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POEMS 



POEMS 



CARL SPENCER 




i»fARTletV6RITAna 



BOSTON 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1915 



Copyright, 1915, by C. S. Brandow 



All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



DEC 17 1915 

)CI.A4i6913 



To all who loved the writer of these Poems, and 

to all those who not knowing her, yet prized 

her work, and to all who appreciate this 

volume, it is affectionately inscribed. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

April Snow 9 

Death the Consecrator lO 

A Picture lo 

Patience 1 1 

Where I2 

My Way and Work 14 

Inspiration 15 

"The Earthy Tabernacle" 15 

In Quiet Days 17 

I Shall be Satisfied 18 

God's Quiet 19 

The Night-Watches 20 

Green is the Color 21 

Homeward 23 

July 24 

Vacation Days 24 

Living Waters 26 

Ebbing 27 

"The Old is Better" 28 

Humanity 29 

Reception 30 

The Great Mother 31 

Phantom Days 33 

Together 34 

The New Light 35 

When a Dream Comes True 36 

Heartache 38 

In Paradise 40 

A Strange Singer 41 

A Baby Brook 41 

As the Grass 43 

Beginnings 44 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Statue and the Rose -. 45 

Early April 46 

Cruising 47 

Dandelion 48 

Hope for the Hopeless 49 

The Singer's Place 50 

The Watch for To-Morrow 51 

In a Shower 53 

A Spot Revisited 54 

In Solitude 55 

A Mountain View 55 

At the Falls 56 

Coming 57 

The Field Lady 58 

The Mowing 59 

The Weeping Willow 60 

Our Dead 61 

Flowers in the Market 62 

Each and All 63 

Love or Rest ' 64 

Our Share 65 

High and Low 66 

Questioning 67 

Night and Morning 68 

A Lost Canary 69 

The Two Mites 70 

Much Asketh More 70 

The Hem of the Garment 70 

Life's Twilight 71 

A Harvest Hymn 73 

The Dark River 74 

The Royal Name 75 

The Flower of the Sprit 75 

A Watch in the Night 76 

"Abou Ben Adhem" 78 

Life's Changes 79 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Sweetness of Bitterness 8o 

The Great Secret 8i 

The King's Ships 82 

Premonition 82 

The Easter Cross 84 

The New Creation 85 

Right 85 

A Sonnet •. 86 

The Uses of Life 87 

Up and Down 89 

An Unspoken Question 89 

For Every Day 90 

My Neighbors in the Cherry Tree 90 

The Snowbird 92 

The Sky 93 

The Swift Mesenger 94 

At Sunset 95 

Half Heard 96 

Sunshine 97 

A Bark Withdrawn 98 

Merry Christmas 98 

Regret 99 

Charms loi 

Under the Wheels 102 

Transformation 103 

Riches 104 

The Call of the Prophet 104 

The Maple Tree 105 

Renunciation 106 

Memorial Wine 107 

Afterward 109 

"He Prayeth Best, Who Loveth Best" 109 

Life — Sonnet no 

Blind 1 10 

Our Silent Friends in 

Refuges ill 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Wee Small Hour 1 12 

A Doubter's Faith 113 

Comforted 113 

Life 114 

Familiarity 115 

The Last Kiss 115 

The Watch of one Hour 117 

A Perfect Day 118 

October 119 

The Soul's Thanksgiving 120 

Self Recompensed 122 

The Little Heart's Ease 122 

Summer in Winter 123 

How the Song Comes 124 

A Light-Bearer 125 

A Hidden Life 125 

Outside 127 

Defeat 128 

A New Year's Eve 1 30 

Last Days 131 

Let us Follow Truth 132 

The Unknown God 133 

The Difference 134 

An Echo 134 

A Monument 135 

No Answer 136 

Joint Heirs with Christ 136 

Outside the Gate 137 

Servant or Friend 138 

Unanswered 139 

All, and in All 140 

Via Dolorosa 142 

A Castaway 143 

From Above 145 

The Gift of Love 145 

Rest 147 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

In the Night 147 

The Better Part 148 

The Ransom of the World 149 

The Eternal Chorus 151 

A Vigil 152 

On the Dark Mountains 153 

"Till my Change Come" 155 

Friend or Foe 157 

The Punishment of Scorn 158 

At Samoa 159 

In Time of Peril 161 

God Save America 161 

The Deathless Names 163 

The Scape Goat of the Nations 164 

Look to the Gates 165 

Heroic Days 168 

A North Wind 171 

Reawakening 172 

After Sixteen Years 175 



POEMS 



APRIL SNOW 

The green was creeping o'er the brown, 
The skies dropt bluebirds yesterday; 

Again today the snow is down, 

And spring a thousand miles away. 

And here's that mischief March again; 

His four wild horses snort and prance; 
He rides and pipes his weirdest strain 

To lead the snowflakes' goblin dance. 

And where is Lady April now? 

Deep in the lonely wood she cowers. 
Keeping alive — the heart knows how — 

O'er her few pale arbutus flowers. 

And yet for her the birds sing clear, 
A song of May, more sweet than May 

To hope amid the storms of fear — 
Ah, how divinely dawns the day. 

And April snow's a magic shower, 
And April sunshine's fairy gold; 

The cloudy drifts like rainbow flower. 

Life thrills the blind and breathless mould. 

Come April with the violet eyes 

And snowdrop face, and dreamful heart ; 
One laughing look to earth and skies, 

And all the world will take thy part. 

Thine are the smiles that grow in tears, 
Thine the dear hidden hope that springs 

Forever fresh from withered years; 

And thine the sweetest voice that sings. 



DEATH THE CONSECRATOR 

O Death, the Consecrator! 
Nothing so sanctifies a name 
As to be written — Dead. 
Nothing so wins a life from blame, 
So covers it from wrath and shame. 

As doth the burial-bed. 

O Death, the revelator! 
Our deepest passions never move 
Till thou hast bid them wake; 
We know not half how much we love 
Till all below and all above 
Is shrouded for our sake. 

O Death, the great peacemaker! 
If enmity hath come between 
There's naught like death to heal it; 
And if we love, O priceless pain, 
O bitter-sweet, when love is vain ! 
There's naught like death to seal it, 

A PICTURE 

An Autumn sun, a golden haze. 
The first of bright October days 

In a calm radiance shining; 
A meadow, stretching broad and green, 
And on its breast in silver sheen 

A ribbon streamlet twining. 

Swift rushing from its mountain source 
It leaps the downward rocky course 

In haste to leave the shadow ; 
It winds the valleys, dimly seen. 
It threads the mountains' wild ravine. 

And drops into the meadow, 
lo 



So softly taken to its breast, 

What wonder that it loves the rest, 

Its ocean home forgetting; 
With dreamy murmurs creeps the tide, 
And none that saw the spot could chide 

Its lingering and regretting. 

Nature lies quiet, with hushed breath; 
That life most glorious in its death, 

Its hectic flush is showing; 
A crimson tint on wood and hill, 
A golden light, and all so still, 

So wondrous in its glowing. 

In brighter robes than those of May, 
The fair Year burns her life away, 

As if for summer mourning, 
Like Eastern brides, she sought the fire. 
And perished grandly on his pyre 

Exulting in that burning. 

Calm skies above, fair fields below ; 
The sunshine sleeps, the waters flow. 

With effortless outgiving; 
And with a thousand happy things 
My heart too lies at rest and sings 

'The joy, the joy of living.' 

PATIENCE 

God's right-hand angel, bright and calm! 

Christ's strengthener in the agony! 
Teach us the meaning of that psalm 

Of fullness only known to thee — 
"Thy will be done!" we sit alone 

And grief within our hearts grows strong 
With passionate meaning, — till thou come 

And turn it to a song. 
II 



Come, when the days go heavily, 

Weighed down with burdens hard to bear; 
When joy and hope fail utterly. 

And leave us fronted by despair. 
Come, not with flattering earthly light. 

But with those grand, clear eyes that see 
Beyond the dark, beyond the light, 

Straight toward eternity. 

Teach us to work, when work seems vain. 

This is half victory over fate ; 
To match ourselves against our pain — 

The rest is done when we can wait. 
Unseal our eyes to see how rife 

With blooms this thorny path may be. 
What heights may reach ; there's worth in life 

WTiich only thou canst see. 

Such worth as bravest souls may reach ; 

From the strong slain comes sweetness still. 
And God lets suffering only teach 

Some best revealings of His will. 
Then strike within our hearts the key. 

Though only sorrow's note it give; 
Thy perfect work is harmony 

In all that learn to live. 

WHERE? 

Gone! slipped away so silently 

While yet we deemed him all our own! 
And he was with us yesterday. 

And now may be before the Throne. 

And he was living as we are. 
We met in life's most common ways; 

And now he is so far — how far? 
And lives — but not in mortal days. 
12 



And he has marveled at this change, 

And dimly guessed what death might be; 

And now he is to us as strange, 
And he has faced eternity. 

Beside the door that ope'd for him 
We shudder at a cold wind's breath ; 

A sense of something great and dim 

Shuts round us, and we whisper — death! 

Hands reaching out, that reach in vain ; 

Love's passionate pleadings, lost in air; 
No message ever comes again 

From that dim land that lieth — -where? 

Into what undiscovered land 

Leads that long voyage through the dark? 
How fares, when watchers at the strand 

Lose sight, the ocean-daring-bark? 

Here we are stopped. O deep! O grave! 

That takes our best, and leaves us so 
To think — what's ours of all we have, 

And what is sure of all we know? 

The curtain drops to change the scene; 

Life works in new conditions there. 
But works; whatever intervene 

Somewhere our dead are living. Where? 

On far-off shores our voices fall, 

And only echo speaks again ; 
Yet, sometime, we shall know it all — 

That strange life grow familiar. When? 



13 



MY WAY AND WORK j 

We do not walk alone; j 

Through seeming accidents, \ 

What we call chance is known ' 

To be God's Providence, ] 

How far our own mistakes may make our loss, ] 
Our errors mar — how fate and will may cross, 

I know not; this I know — ' 
Since even comets not unguided go, 
Still the blind world is led by God, 

And goeth trembling on His safest road. j 

O blest! O desolate! ; 

The shadowed lives, that stand ; 

Bowed by the very weight i 
Of that protecting Hand! 
But most where most the lines of life are crost. 

And where short-sighted Doubt had written — lost, j 

Is shown the Higher Will! j 

Alas! we say, the fatal sisters still 1 

Cut the unfinished thread; but we ' 
Work blindly, without plan — not God's necessity. 

Great Power that movest all. 

That with so sweet constraint J 

Dost draw through fear and fall, j 

A hero or a saint — j 

Thou hast had martyrs who were weak in faith j 

And first denied Thee — yet they won the death! j 

Heaven would not lose them so; j 

Nor will the harpers round the Throne forego 

One voice attuned to join their choir, ■ 

For all the trembling flesh and ways of fire. ,; 

So, though Thy work be laid ^ 

In most unworthy hands, | 

14 j 



I dare not be afraid. 

He strengthens who commands. 
He sends his strongest angels to the weak, 
The altar-coal when untaught lips must speak, 

God's are the will and deed; 
None holds a gift but must supply a need : 
The heart's voice, saying, Woe is me 
If I do not this work — is Destiny. 

INSPIRATION 

The power that cometh, goeth. 

As the wind bloweth ; 

The music-making sprite. 

The plaj'er on the viewless strings, 

Winning from the meanest things 

Some hidden sweetness and delight — 

Once on my reed did blow. 

And now it cannot let the music go. 

As stately trees, unswaying 
Stand mutely praying 
Through the still summer noon ; 
As each of thousand leaves doth keep 
Some subtle harmony asleep, 
Till breezes touch them into tune — 
With all things, small and great, 
My soul doth for its master wait. 

"THE EARTHLY TABERNACLE" 

Here is the house. 
Empty and lone; 
Where is the home now of that which is gone? 
Out in the regions of boundless, blank space, 
Floating and floating, no shape and no place? 
Or did it gather its wealth, and remove 
To the home up above? 
All's still in the house! 
15 



Gone from its house, 

And none knoweth where; 
Unseen it passed the invisible air. | 

Nothing to mark that a dweller is reft ' 

Out of our midst, but the house that is left. i 

God grant the soul that hath wandered away 

Be not homeless to-day — 

But here is the house. . ^ 

Out of its house! ) 

How strange it must be — f 

Now to itself the great mystery, ! 

The intangible thing that's like nothing we know, j 

That we should shudder at, come to us so! j 

Here with us yesterday, gone beyond touch; j 

How strange to be such — i 

And away from its house. ' 

Ah, the desolate house! 
And a voice cometh low, 
Murmuring, some day, thou too must go. 
Ah, me! thrust forth to the world outside, 
Shall I not find it dreary and wide? ] 

This is grown to be home. From the near and 
the known 

I must go forth alone | 

Out of this house! ] 

Low as it is, I 

From its windows I bound I 

All I can measure of what is beyond. .| 

Here has been written all of my past; 

It is dear by memories, first and last; 

Old as life to me! What shall I do ? 



When I must go too 
Out of my house? 

i6 



Can I miss the new house i 

In the city impearled ? \ 

Dreadful abysses part world from world, j 

Valleys of nothingness twixt hight and hight, \ 

Terrible blanks in the great infinite. | 

Room for worlds to go down; where a soul i 

might be tossed .] 

With its anchorage lost, i 

So far from its house! 

J 

Into thy house, ') 

Lord, take us straight, • 

Lest we be left in the darkness to wait; 'j 

Lest we be lost in realms without sun, j 

And wander forever where mansion is none ) 

Crying without. Let us in ! Let us in ! J 

When the feast shall begin '^ 

And the door shall be shut. I 

I 

IN QUIET DAYS j 

i 

The dying year grows strangely mild; | 

Now in the hazy autumn weather \ 

My heart is like a happy child; I 

And life and I, friends reconciled, I 

Go over the hills together. | 

"i 

My peaceful days run sweet and still i 



As waters slipping over sand, 
Seeking the shadows of free will, 
To gather tenderer lights than fill 
Day's over-lavish hand. 

The summer wood with music rings; 
The singer hath a troubled breast; 
I am no more the bird that sings. 
But that which broods with folded wings 
Above its quiet nest. 
17 



Oft have I watched all night with grief. 
All night with joy; and which is best? 
Ah, both were sharp, and both were brief ; 
My heart was like a wind-blown leaf, 
I give them both for rest. 

Fair Quiet, close to Joy allied, 
But loving shadier walks to keep. 
By day is ever at my side. 
And all night long with me abide 
Peace and her sister, sleep. 

I SHALL BE SATISFIED 

Strange words for man ! Through all we dream and 
do 

We go down to the grave with hope denied ; 
Earth has her triumphs and her crown, but who 

Was ever satisfied. 

There are sweet fountains in the wilderness 
And flowers by the loneliest wayside 

And joys come often, yet the happiest 
Are never satisfied. 

What once the longing first interpreted? 

What shoreless, soundless ocean, spreading wide 
Rose clear and calm before his sight, who said 

I shall be satisfied? 

Before the thought our restlessness is stilled 
As once again the veil is drawn aside 

O land where every void, earth leaves is filled 
And all are satisfied ! 

A heaven worth winning! though that land be fair 
With beauty to our sight, and sense denied. 

One thought surpasses all the visions — there 
I shall be satisfied! 

i8 



There are all shadows past, all secrets plain; 

If not in vain I shall have lived and died, 
If loss at last may turn to better gain 

I shall be satisfied. 

If I may drink and never thirst again, 
And in that rest forever more abide; 

If in thy likeness I awake — O then 
I shall be satisfied. 

GOD'S QUIET 

There's silence in the holy place 

Where sits the Holiest on the Throne; 

And silence in the unmeasured space 
Where silver stars go pacing on, 
Eternally, eternally. 

Around Him moves the universe; 
Earth only breaks the harmony 

With her discordant curse. 

Sad Earth! whose music breaks in moans 
Against the crystal of the sky — 

Poor Earth ! to have but bitter groans 
Wherewith to make reply. 
All silently, all silently. 

Upon thee fall the light and dew; 
God sends His blessings unto thee — 

Alas! His judgments too. 

Now wherefore is the constant strife? 

And wherefore is the ceaseless moan? 
Why does the dust of our low life 
Rise up in clouds before the Throne? 
Unceasingly, unceasingly, 
We vex His patience with our prayers; 

For Him to rise and work, we cry, 
Impatient that He spares. 
19 



For Him to work! His chariot-wheels 
Pause never in their onward way; 

Even now before Him Error reels ; 
And yet we charge Him with delay! 
All silently, all silently, 

He breaks the yoke, He gives the meed. 
Calmly, for His eternity 

Hath time for any deed. 

I think it is that we are weak; 

Our life so short, so faint our breath ; 
We find the feeble words we speak 

Strike blankly on the shore of death. 
And yet they live eternally, 

They echo on a far-off shore; 
O mortals! know your destiny! 

Speak hopeless words no more! 

God's great hereafter lieth bright 

Beyond life's valley, death's abyss; 
And triumph crowns the perfect right 

Wherewith that world doth compass this 
In silence His eternity 

Flows round our little isle of life; 
There's room for calm in that great sea — 

With us, for only strife. 

THE NIGHT WATCHES 

Her robes yet skirted with the sunset glimmer, 

Into the twilight brown. 
Into the twilight ever growing dimmer. 

Calmly the world goes down. 

Without a fear she seeth shut behind her 

The iron gates of night; 
The morning sun hath never failed to find her 

And lead her forth to light. 
20 



And friendly is the darkness, grown thus wonted ; 

With night as well as day 
Is the eternal covenant appointed ; 

In both she knows her way. 

So in the solemn darkness of this hiding, 

That seems so like a frown, 
A planet which the sun unseen is guiding, 

Calmly my soul goes down. 

When, on the dreamer, angels without number 

From the still skies look out, 
The revelers cannot know how sweet the slumber 

He draws the dark about. 

Or if through grief a solitary waker 

In faith's pale starry light, 
None knows how precious unto God my Maker 

My songs are in the night. 

GREEN IS THE COLOR 

You may go praise your roses, and talk of heavenly 

blue, 
Or white the garb of innocence, and purity's own 

hue; 
Your roses fade, your white is dimmed, your blue 

is pale to see, 
But here's the truest color — the green, the green 

for me! 

Well chose the ancient Mother, our blooming 

Mother Earth, 
When she could deck her majesty with beauty to its 

worth ; 
She keeps her youth, her every spring is fairest ever 

seen, 
For young life's fresh beginnings are always in the 

green. 

21 



Come near it, ye foresaken, and charm your gloom 
away, 

Green is hope, the ever-fresh, and springing from 
decay ; 

A thousand winters stamp it out, the humble little 
grass;— 

A thousand times it smiles to see the banished win- 
ter pass. 

You must fade out the blue from the eternal sky, 
You must blot out the sunshine, before the green 

will die; 
Flaunt out, my summer beauty! of colors you are 

queen 
The very heaven's blue and gold must blend to 

make the green ! 

There's honor to the lowest, the grasses small and 
sweet, 

O, none should go among them but with the light- 
est feet; 

They're kin to the nobility, the old and stately 
trees. 

Yet love to bless the common soil with kindly char- 
ities. 

Here's to the meadow grasses, — O, bonnily they 

toss 
Their light heads to the bobolink, his hidden nest 

across ; 
Here's to the churchyard grasses, — O, tenderly 

they wave. 
The certain resurrection they preach from every 

grave. 



22 



HOMEWARD 

It is the time when birds are calling, 
Each to his mate, his sweetheart mate. 

When airs are sweet with blossoms falling, 
And spring is waxing warm and late. 

And care is grown a heavy thralling 
That keeps me from my fair estate. 

For in the old familiar places 

Doth nature list, for me doth list; 

And in the wood's untrodden spaces 

Are pathways where my feet are missed, 

And little starry flower-faces 

That watch for me to keep a tryst. 

Sweet valleys that the sky stoops over 

So tenderly, so tenderly. 
And hillsides, where the whitening clover 

Already tempts the roving bee — 
My heart is still your faithful lover, 

Remembering charms none else may see. 

The robin is my younger brother ; 

Blackbird and thrush, sparrow and wren, 
Each year to greet the dear old Mother 

Come all the children home again ; 
She cries to me "I miss no other; 

Ah, why so long in haunts of men?" 

She knows my heart could never wrong her; 

She calls me so, she draws me so; 
I feel the old spell growing stronger 

Aside the heavy weight I throw; 
I cannot bide in exile longer. 

Home to the meadow, let me go! 



23 



JULY 

Now comes the sudden summer, 
The beautiful fierce summer, 
Out of the tangle roses 

And wilding berry-vines; 
We mocked and called her, sleeping, 
We quail at her outleaping, — 
Lo! through the jungle-roses. 

An eye that burning shines. 

Come night, O night, the charmer, 
With thy soft breath disarm her; 
O Morning, stay thy music, 

Wake not the leopardess; 
On all winds gently blowing, 
Play airs like waters flowing; 
And bind in snare of slumber 

Her fearful loveliness. 

VACATION DAYS 

working-world ! while rest is sweet, 
And ease a welcome comer. 

Only your blithest songs are meet 
For the queen-month of summer. 

And while her plenteous harvest bless 
And bind the year together, 

1 sing the month of idleness. 
The pleasant August weather. 

For her the others toil and spin, 
Her bounden treasure-heapers, 

Till all the wealth is gathered in 
And ready for the reapers. 



24 



Till like the lilies fair to view 

She sits in covert shady, 
With nothing in the world to do 

But play the royal lady. 

And scatter with a lavish hand 

The largess they have brought her 

For fair and fruitful is the land 
Of the sun's favorite daughter. 

These are the days that reign in right 

Of royal pride and beauty ; 
That owe the world no tribute-mite 

Of sober working-duty. 

These are the nights that He awake 
To pleasant sounds to listen 

And with their open beauty, make 
The star-eyed heavens glisten. 

When faint upon the dusty ways 

We pause amid the toiling. 
Then hail the August holidays, 

The yearly disenthralling. 

From crowded streets the dwellers wind,- 
(The gentle clouds have pity 

On that wan sufferer left behind, 
The poor sun-stricken city.) 

Far from the striving and the din, 

They walk beside the ocean. 
And drop their restless lives within 

That mighty heart's commotion. 

The world has come up to your doors, 

O holy mountain-places! 
Her feet are on your silent floors; 

And where the tangled traces 
25 



Of rocky woodland paths betray 

Some fairy grotto hidden, 
The native dwellers shrink away 

From guests that come unbidden. 

Fair are the country's quiet nooks, 
And sweet the clover meadows ; 

Our lives are like the shrunken brooks 
That creep into the shadows. 

We'll let the mill-wheels stand awhile, 
And we'll go down with dances, 

Down by ourselves to sit and smile 
At our own idle fancies. 

Sing to ourselves, and never mind 
The care of rhythm-keeping; 

For who should tell it but the wind? 
And soft! he too is sleeping! 

However soon the visions melt 

Beyond these valley portals, 
Once in Arcadia we have dwelt, 

And piped to the immortals. 

LIVING WATERS 

There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and 
deep 

As ever summer saw ; 
And cool their water is — yea, cool and sweet, 

But you must come to draw. 
They hoard not, yet they rest in calm content. 

And not unsought will give; 
They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, — 

So self-contained they live. 

26 



And there are some like springs, that bubbling burst 
To follow dusty ways, 

And run with offered cup to quench his thirst- 
Where the tired traveler strays. 

That never ask the meadow if they want 
What is their joy to give ; 

Unasked their lives to other life they grant, — 
So self-bestowed they live. 

And One is like the ocean, deep and wide, 

Wherein all waters fall; 
That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide. 

Feeding and bearing all. 
That breathes the mists, that sends the clouds 
abroad. 

That takes again to give; 
Even the great and loving heart of God, 

Whereby all love doth live. 

EBBING 

Half halting, as in doubt. 
Creeping, creeping, the tide goes out, 
Oft breaks, impatient of delay. 
And oft returns a little way 
To kiss the old gray rocks, and pour 
Its largess on the sand once more. 
So the tide goes out 

The slender grasses rank 
Reach trembling fingers down the bank, 
And cling the helpless mosses, when 
The pitying water turns again ; 
And the forsaken cliffs look down 
Upon the sands left bare and brown 
When the tide goes out. 



27 



To hear a far-off sound 
It listens close along the ground ; 
A call from the resistless sea, 
A voice of dread and mystery; 
Seaward the under-currents set, 
Longing is stronger than regret. 
And the tide goes out. 

Whatever life it be 
Hath heard the summons toward the sea, 
Nor dread nor tenderness can stay 
When once the ocean calls away ; 
Though every parting wave make moan 
To leave the barren shore alone 
When the tide goes out. 

"THE OLD IS BETTER" 

The feast of God is rich with wine, 
Vintage of all the years in store; 

Bring all your cups for Him to fill, 
And He will give them running o'er. 

Full of the sun His grapes have grown; 

Ask what thou wilt, — the choice is wide; 
For joy is good, the angel's food. 

And when He gives He will not chide. 

But whoso in His banquet house 

Hath drunk the costlier wine of pain, 

(O sharp and sweet — for victors meet!) 
He will not ask the new again! 



38 



HUMANITY 

With high pavilions, sunrise-gilt, 
By the white-footed mornings trod, 

How glorious are the hills of God, 

How stately-fair His world is built! 

Grandly His mighty rivers sweep, 

His strong seas beat against their bars 
And His great company of stars 

In state the heavenly highways keep. 

But let His angels rather gaze 

(Who heavenly weights and measures know 

And the long ways that spirits go), 

Upon this last work of the days. 

O kingly, fallen Humanity! 

The morning-stars that sang thy birth 
Called thee the glory of the earths 

But little knew God's thought of thee. 

For here is clay that holdeth fire. 
And slaves that yet are lords of will ; 

Wanderers, that lift from mirey ill 

Prevailing hands of pure desire 

Whoso the downward path hath trod, 
The wrecks of human life to scan, 
Must write. This creature, being man, 

Was ruined, having less than God. 

Lo, these are they whose lot is cast 

With His, — howe'er they toil and strive 

To keep this lower self alive, 

Which death will break from them at last. 

Of natures nobler than they own; 
Held to their kindred in the skies 
By some Godlike necessities, — 

That cannot live by bread alone. 

29 



Not painless works the fiery leaven ; 

These have one glory — to abide 
In the full w^orld unsatisfied; 
By the one hope that, broad as heaven, 
O'erlooks the narrowing walls of creed, 

Proclaimed the sons of God with power; 

Each, in some grandly bitter hour. 
Sure to find love his sorest need. 

O, none but men, a man can scorn! 

Since for these least and lowest lives 
The archangel with the demon strives; 
And unto them too, souls are born, 
Those wonderous things, so slowly wrought, 

That breathes a subtler thing than air. 

And daily at the altar fare 
Upon the living bread of thought. 

Their world is low, their days are small ; 

Yet to each falleth once in time 
That day which makes all days sublime, 
And mystery consecrates them all. 
To each a glory entereth 

When, wide alike to low and high. 

Heirs of His own eternity, 
God opens His great gates of death. 

RECEPTION 

meadow that lies right under the skies 
Open all night and day, 

1 wish I were listening half so well. 
To hear what the heavens say; 

So quick to welcome what they let fall. 
So ready with thanks as true ; 

I never should lack any bounty at all 
If I had a heart like 5?ou! 
30 



Blossoming sweet, with a smile to meet 

Every smile of the sun ; 
Growing glad with a brighter green, 

Wherever the rivulets run; 
Garnering up into golden grain 

All the light and the dew; 
I should never be sorry, or glad in vain 

If I had a heart like you! 

THE GREAT MOTHER 

Our gracious Mother Nature; she hath a word for 

each, — 
To-day or else to-morrow she'll name you in her 

speech ; 
Say not she smiles too lightly, — there are weepers 

every day, 
But go you to the meadows when trouble's once 

away, — 
All the shining and the song 
Shall nothing seem to wrong; 
O, the world is good, and may its years be long! 

We know the Garden's story — sorrow is old as man ; 
Is sorrow old as the world? who knows which first 

began ? 
Whoever tuned the chorus till the chief singer came. 
Through all his echoing ages the key has been the 
same, 
For Adam in his time, 
And for each in passion's prime, 
The joy-bells and the dirges ring an interchime. 

The hearts of men are rivers, that chafe in ordered 

grooves. 
With now a song of sighing and now a song of 

loves ; 

31 



O Nature, Mother Nature! she hath borne us on 

her breast, 
Till her own great heart is beating in flow with our 
unrest 
Many a time the sky 
Hath wept its blue eyes dry 
Ere ever wept beneath it, you and I. 

She has winds that cry of conflict to the soul that 
strives ; 

She has deserts bitter-hearted with the grief of wast- 
ed lives ; 

She has lonely rocks and moors, and ever sighing 
seas, 

And someday you shall hearken to your own life in 
these. 
But it's Ho all the day, 
When trouble's once away. 

And again she'll pipe for us, and we'll be gay. 

She has mountains weird and kingly, with the clouds 

upon their head ; 
She has fearful-thunder places, where the storms 

are bred ; 
But strength and safety gird her — sea-depths and 

mountain-bars. 
And peace is where eternity dwells among the stars. 
And it's Hush, all the night. 
And the moongleam lieth white. 
Like the pale hand of peace, shutting the lids from 

sight. 

All to keep the life in us, the life that goeth fast, 
Ever she turns and turns it, but it weareth out at 

last; 
Sorely and oft she sigheth, to put the old away; — 



32 



So to us shall tears be given, when we have had our 
day. 

Then for us the earth will keep 

A silence sweet and deep, 
And again she'll sing for us, and we shall sleep. 

PHANTOM DAYS 

Sweet-heart, when the year turns back, 
And over her summer track 

Goes trailing in robes of mist, 
And holding her poor pale lips, 
Chill with their half eclipse. 

Up to the sun to be kissed — 

Then over the parting line 
The dead days glimmering shine, 

With pitiful faces fair. 
They are perfect, all but breath. 
And I mind me of their death 

By the chill that is in the air. 

Yet at the sight I yearn; 
And O, that they would return 
With the love that I forego! 
And I murmur, ah! how long? 
And sorrow takes up her song — 
"Till the rose blooms in the sno^▼." 

So all the story is told. 
Cease, for the heart's a-cold. 

And the winter claims its own. 
In the first night o' the frost 
Beauty and bloom were lost. 

And what is the stalk alone? 



33 



O ! when will the rough winds blow, 
And when will the blank white snow 

Cover the dead from sight? 
For, like the haze on the hill, 
Lieth on thought and will 

The spell of a past delight. 

So, over the yellow leaves. 
And the empty place of sheaves, 

I follow my aimless feet. 
•O! love that is lost to me, 
Are there ghosts that walk with thee 

In this time o' the bitter-sweet? 

O! what but the heart's desire 
Can you have seen in the fire 

Of the autumn woods ablaze ! 
And what but an ended tale 
In the ashes few and pale 

Of these Indian Summer days! 

TOGETHER 

A song for the season, my dear, my dear! 

A song for the sunshiny weather! 
And what does it matter the time o' the year, 

When you and I are together? 

A song for the summer flying south, — 
A flattering song to stay her! — 

And if I were a bird with a golden mouth 
I would not care to delay her. 

All the year round my skies are blue, 

Into your blue eyes gazing; 
Shining, smiling, tender and true — 

O, these are the ones for praising. 

34 



The best of mine that the year could claim 
Were a homage but half-hearted, 

For I know this brightness will be the same 
When her bloom has all departed. 

When out of the world the sunshine slips, 
Its hoard the hearthstone showeth; 

The one light suffereth no eclipse 
Whatever the way it goeth. 

It's you that's nearing the summer's crown. 
To you all sweet names gather; 

It's you I love when the snows are down, — 
O let me sing you rather! 

For though I utter it unaware. 
Your name is a spell that raises 

All ringing sprites that dwell in the air, 
Making a sheaf of praises. 

A song to the youth our years above 
Holding all worlds in tether, — 

It suits all seasons, my love, my love. 
While you and I are together! 

THE NEW LIGHT 

The dark before the day. 

The dawning silver-gray. 
Is sweet with treasured fragrance overrun; 

So went my girlhood's hours, 

And, folded like the flowers. 
The heart of life was waiting for its sun. 



35 



In the pale east I saw 

The gleaming stars withdraw, 
The fairy lights of childhood, one by one; 

O gladder light of youth. 

And sweeter tale of truth ! 
What star did ever whisper of the sun ? 

Before the morning spring, 

The birds awake and sing; 
What is it? — but they twitter mystery, — 

And all my thoughts, like birds, 

Sing music without words, 
And flutter, flutter, and I wonder why! 

All in the dawning still 

The woods begin to thrill. 
Through silent aisles the eager whispers run ; 

O peace, my foolish heart? 

What makes thee throb and start? — 
He's coming, coming, — lo, it is the sun ! 

O, while the skies were gray. 

Where hast thou been, my Day? 
And where was I in dreams apart from thee? 

What land hath let thee go 

To smile upon me so? 
What hand hath led thee all the way to me? 

No longer stay the streams, 

Hushed in the moonlight gleams, 
Now all the darkling oracles are dumb; 

No more inquire and wait, 

At threshold of thy fate; 
Enter a queen, O heart ! the king is come ! 



36 



WHEN A DREAM COMES TRUE 

I hold your hand in mine, my darling, darling; 

I look within your eyes; 
I ask you idle questions, only caring 

To hear your low replies. 

And all the while the glimmer of a wonder, 

A moonlight rack of cloud, 
Flits through my silent heaven of joy, while under 

Its stars my soul is bowed. 

I think how oft the future will require it, — 

"Ah, how then did it seem?" 
To-morrow and to-morrow will desire it 

Vainly as any dream. 

What is it more? In dreams our eyes are holden, 

Not knowing near from far; 
We make with outspread arms, a shadow folding ; 

And such life's visions are. 

It is but touch and sight a little plainer ; 

A voice that, telling, hides; 
I doubt — O heart, art thou so much a gainer? 

For something still divides. 

O fire of God ! O living winged creature 

That in this clay does rise! 
How canst thou warm to thy diviner nature 

These lips, and hands, and eyes? 

Too eager guest, that hastest to their meeting 

Hoping desire to fill, 
Thou standest half-abashed, in tenderest greetin;i 

Yet finding welcome chill. 



37 



With stinted bread the lifelong hunger staying, 

With fasting visions blest; 
With longing that makes life perpetual praying — 

A stranger here confest. 

If yet, O dearest heart, the world grows dearer. 

Because' tis sweet to stand 
(While that which never has enough cries. Nearer,) 

One moment hand to hand. 

What will it be when every barrier breaking 

Lets heart to heart come through? 
Will heaven leave one corner for an aching 

When the long dream comes true? 

HEARTACHE 

The still skies hear a moaning 

Among celestial airs; 
Low at the throne are drooping 

The winds that carry prayers. 
The Face that is the light of heaven 

Grows sad with pitying; 
For a heartache, a heartache. 

Is such a common thing! 

Where flesh to flesh complaineth 

Griefs are a clamorous host ; 
When silence lieth deepest 

The heavens listen most. 
In unsuspected ministry 

Stoops many an angel-wing; 
For a heartache, a heartache 

Is such a common thing! 



38 



A costly thing to carry, 

Of all things, is a heart; 
Who ever knew he had it, 

Until he felt it smart? 
The wandering pain is quick to come, 

To come again and cling; 
O, a heartache, a heartache 

Is such a common thing. 

A heart is that which opens 

To trouble's thousand ways; 
An unseen arrow wounds it, 

To halt through all its days. 
An evil eye may scatter blight, 

A flitting mite may sting; 
No wonder that a heartache 

Is such a common thing! 

Thrice is he armed who carries 

A heart secure from harm 
But nothing wholly human 

Had ever such a charm. 
For joy I know hath still unrest, 

And love still fluttering; 
All the world round, a heartache 

Is such a common thing! 

Full-throated are the singers 

That dwell in deepest shade; 
It's less of joy than sorrow 

Our sweetest songs are made. 
There's never silence in the breast 

That hath so sweet a spring; 
O, a heartache, a heartache 

Is such a common thing! 



39 



Entreat who will of pity, — 

Friend, let not you and I ! ' 

There is not heart's ease growing I 

Enough for all who sigh. j 

O never mind us, merry world, j 

We too will dance and sing; .; 

For a heartache, a heartache, 

Is but a common thing! 

One certain cure for heartache, j 

But one was ever told ; J 

There's naught so quickly healing j 

As is the churchyard mould. j 

How well it is the very one , 

That time is sure to bring; ^ 

Since a heartache, a heartache ] 

Is such a common thing. j 

IN PARADISE j 

Long life and sweet is in the upper land. 

Fresh flowers, dews that lie all day, a light 

Clear from the fountain on the mystic height ; ' 

None shall sigh, saying, "It is beautiful," 

As thinking, "It must die," — held in God's hand. 

The half-blown rose of life, unwithering, full 

Of fragrance, filleth all the Eden-land. ! 

There in God's presence labor flows like play ; 

P'orth from the Throne go blest activities, ! 

Eternally rejoicing, every way. 

And lo ! the happy ones who all inherit ! ' 

The ever-greatening rapture in their eyes ; 

Of those to whom — oh blessed poor in spirit! 

Infinite heaven comes for a surprise! 



40 



A STRANGE SINGER 

Joy's the shyest bird 

Mortal ever heard ; 
Listen rapt and silent when he sings; 

Do not seek to see, 

Less the vision be 
But a flutter of departing wings. 

Straight down out of heaven 

Drops the fiery leaven, 
Heating, burning, rising in his breast; 

Never, never long 

Canst thou bear the song, 
All too high for labour or for rest. 

Hope can sit and sing 

With a folded wing, 
Long contented in a narrow cage ; 

Patience on the nest. 

Hour by hour will rest, 
Brooding tender things in hermitage. 

Singers true and sweet. 

Mockers bright and fleet. 
Close about thy door they flit and call ; 

One that will not stay 

Draws thy heart away ; 
Listen! listen! It is more than all. 

A BABY BROOK 

"Tinkle-te-tinkle," it said, close to the path beside 

me, 
A low little laughing voice, and it drew my eyes 

to look ; 
Pattering drops of feet, now shall your rovings guide 

me; 

41 



Find me the pleasant places, you little love of a 
brook ! 

"Tinkle-te-tinkle," it said, "this way into the mead- 
ow, 
Over the road, and down the bank, and under the 
bars; 
And now we loiter a minute, here in the great oak's 
shadow. 
And look at the field so noble, full of the daisy- 
stars. 

"Tinkle-te-tinkle," it called, and I turned wonder- 
ing whither; 
Then how the roguish spirit laughed in its sleeve 
of green ; 
"Follow me, follow, follow" — curving hither and 
thither, — 
Hide and seek with a bright eye glancing behind 
a screen. 

O the tiniest brook that ever threaded the grasses, 
Flirting a kiss to the clover, flouting the sober 
grain; 
That ever cried to itself, lost in the dark wood- 
passes. 
And laughed like a child escaping into the light 
again. 

"Tinkle-te-tinkle," it sang, under the green, green 
banner ; 
Summer is queen, and all the world to her court 
comes up ; 
Beautiful, gracious Summer is lady of all the manor. 
And I am her little page that carries a crystal 
cup. 



43 



"Tinkle-te-tinkle," it paused, and a dainty basin 
filling, 
Cried to its fellow-gypsy, "O bobolink, bobolink! 
To June the world's delight" — and a wonderful 
stream of trilling 
Answered the singing water — "O sweet heart, 
come and drink!" 

Come and drink music, truly! I know he has been 
already, 
For all his song is the brooklet's carried up on 
the wing; 
"Tinkle-te-tinkle," went on the sweet little voice 
and steady; 
And O to follow forever and listen and learn to 
sing ! 

AS THE GRASS 

"My days are as the grass;" 

Swiftly my seasons pass. 
And like the flower of the field I fade. 

O soul, dost thou not see 

The wise have likened thee 
To the most living creature that is made? 

"My days are as the grass;" 

The sliding waters pass 
Under my roots ; upon me drops the clouds ; 

And not the stately trees 

Have kinder ministries ; 
The heavens are too lofty to be proud. 

"My days are as the grass," 

The troops of trouble pass 
And leave me trampled that I cannot rise ; 

But wait a little while. 

And I shall lift and smile 
Before the sweet congratulating skies. 
43 



"My days are as the grass," 

Soon out of sight I pass; 
And in the bare earth I must hide my head, 

The wind that passes o'er 

Will find my place no more; 
The wind of death will tell that I am dead. 

But how shall I rejoice 

When I shall hear the voice 
Of Him who, keeping spring with Him alway. 

Lest hope from man should pass. 

Hath made us as the grass; 
The grass that always has another day! 

BEGINNINGS 

How sorely, Lord, are thy weak creatures tried! 
Rut here and there Thy name is glorified; 
Some soul made strong in faith, lifts up its cross; 
Shining with light that turns our crowns to dross; 
One drops the world, and lifting empty hands. 
That draw down heaven in prayer, triumphant 

stands ; 
But for the most, they lift the blind man's cry 
To men, and hear no Christ that passeth by. 

Have I not seen pain with no end but pain? 

Sorrow that worketh death ; loss borne in vain ? 

Did thy word fail, or went it some long way 

To come with greater joy another day? 

This only comforts me, for all I see ; 

Thy ways are high. Thy thought too deep for me ; 

My April day with here and there a bud, 

Faintly foretells the summer's glory-flood, — 

I have not seen the end of any strife. 

Nor read the meaning of a single life. 



44 



THE STATUE AND THE ROSE 

One night I passed the gardens of the King; 

The air was sweet with many roses blown, 
And through the dusk I saw the glimmering 

Of fair white statues carven out of stone. 

The King is great, the King must have the best : 
I saw his servants searching land and sea, 

With skill to find by many a subtle test, 
The masking beauty wheresoe'er it be. 

I came where one in stainless marble wrought 
A mighty work of purpose yet unknown, 

And while I pondered on the sculptor's thought 
I heard the statue sighing in the stone. 

Sighing for doubt and self-despair, it spake; 

"One dwelt by me who all enchantment knows; 
Both sky and earth grew tender for her sake; 

It must be beautiful to be a rose. 

"They took her to the gardens of the King 
And there will play for her the minstrel-airs; 

And she, to music slowly opening, 

Will yield her graces one by one to prayers. 

"Hard is the world's way with us harder things; 

Chisel and hammer fearfully entreat; 
But such as she were born to be the King's, 

And gentleness for gentleness is meet. 

"So easy, easy is it to unfold, 

And be, by growing, what they long to be ; 
But strange and secret is the fate I hold, 

And painful searchers carve it out for me." 



45 



The roses in the gardens of the King 

Were fluttering down beneath the statue's eyes 
When on their lofty faces, triumphing 

In changeless beauty, did the dawn arise. 

I looked, and passing, to myself I said, 

"With pains, with patience, comes the better part ; 

Life for a day an hour hath perfected. 

But slowlj^ grows the immortal work of art. 

"O that the prisoned ones could know how fair 
Are these transfigured kindred of their own!" 

They did not know, nor dream, — for everywhere 
I heard the statue sighing in the stone. 

EARLY APRIL 

All the world lies bare and brown 

As sand before a flooding; 
A little wave runs up and down, 

The merest foam of budding, 
Here and there, is a shimmering drop, 

And a sparkle fresh, 
And a glimmer of sunshine caught atop. 

Making a rainbow mesh. 

With news from islands fortunate 

Came yesterday the swallows; 
"Good luck," they say, "be with his freight. 

The fair south wind that follows," 
With longer sunrays overlap 

The days in flow. 
Till up in heaven the windows ope, 

And the fountains break below, 



46 



Full forty days, and forty nights' 

Rain light, and leaf, and blossom; 
Till there's not one of all the heights 

But is covered, brow and bosom, 
Till at high tide the waters stay 

In the month of June, 
And ebb through many a morn of play. 

And many a slow, sweet afternoon. 
Till the old world glideth out some day. 

To the flow of a sinking tune. 

CRUISING 

What are the days but islands. 

So many little islands, 
And sleep the sea of silence. 

That flows about them all? 
There when the moon is risen 

The peaceful waters glisten ; 
But yonder flashing — listen ! 

How deep their plummets fall ! 

The little boats are skimming. 

The wind-led boats are skimming, 
Each in its silver rimming, 

Apart from fleet and shore; 
There not an oar is dipping; 

With just a cable's slipping, 
Glides out the phantom shipping 

That wanders evermore. 

How many are the islands. 

The teeming, talking islands, 
That in the sea of silence 

The rowing vessels find ? 
Their number no man knoweth. 

Their way the current showeth; 
The tide returnless floweth 

As each is left behind. 
47 



The sailors long to tarry 

For rest they long to tarry 
When at some isle of fancy 

They touch and go ashore; 
With songs of wistful pleading 

They follow fate unheeding, 
And with the tide's receding 

Are drifting as before. 

But sometime in the sailing, 

The blind and endless sailing. 
They pass beyond the hailing 

Of land upon the lee, — 
The lowlands and the highlands — 

And all beyond the islands 
Behold the sea of silence, 

Behold the great white sea! 

DANDELION 

The little common people 

Are laughing in the sun, 
Just like the poor folk's children, 

The world that overrun. 
Look up, my baby Goldilocks! 

O, are you quite aware 
That you are but a dandelion. 

My little Yellow-Hair! 

You grow in open weather. 

Close to the dear good earth, — 
Your eyes are all a twinkle 

To hear her quiet mirth. 
The lady Rose may keep her bud 

From too much sun and air; 
But fairest is not dearest face 

My little Yellow-Hair! 

48 



By highways and by hedges, 

Where nature's own are sent, 
The like of you are plenty, 

As if for good things meant. 
And so I think — though Lady Rose 

May wonder how I dare, — 
That Heaven loves the dandelion, — 

My little Yellow-Hair! 

Ay, loves them, I remember, 

So well, that swiftly drawn, 
They grow up straight and slender. 

And suddenly are gone. 
Ah, get not yet the aureole 

Around your forehead fair, — 
You are not one too many here, — 

My little Yellow-Hair! 

HOPE FOR THE HOPELESS 

If a hand hath such a stain 
It will ne'er come white again, — 
(Though its cleansing hath sufficed 
It should touch the hand of Christ, 
There be shames the world counts loss 
Past the helping of the Cross,) 
Let it not drop idly then. 
It may serve God's race of men; 
It may work with Him below, 
Where the white hands fear to go; 
Looking up, and reaching down. 
There is neither fear nor frown ; 
In such service, day by day. 
Evil marks shall wear away; 
She that washed Christ's feet is known 
In Heaven by that act alone. 



49 



If a heart hath such a pain j 

It can ne'er be gay again, — i 

(There are hurts whose cure is grown j 

On the heavenly hills alone ; 

Some most bitter tears will stay j 

Last, for God to wipe away.) i 

Think on whose high-priestly head I 

Grief's full chrism once was shed ; I. 

Not without some rites of pain | 

Doth God his comforters ordain ; • 

And O, that feeble lives like ours ' 

Should taste the great hereafter's powers! i 

The heart the shifting world has left, ; 

Like waters sunken in a cleft, i 

Learns quiet from the eternal eye, j 

And mirrors nothing but the sky. \ 

THE SINGER'S PLACE i 

You would pass it by among the rest, | 

Curious world, as you haste along, ; 

The tiny, secret joy possessed, j 

The heart of life and the fount of song, , 

Kept securely above your wrong. i 



Safe as a bird's nest high in a tree. 
On the outermost twig, where it bends and swings, 

Out of reach if any one see. 
And safe for the dweller, without his wings, 
Because the lightest and smallest of things. 

They may look and listen underneath, 
When leaves are thick in the festal June, 

And think the old tree all abreath, 
It trembles so in the stillest noon 
With the overflow of the raptured tune, 



SO 



As if the spirit were in its boughs 
That keeps such joy in the air afloat; 

The tiny singer in his great house 
Swelling the while his tireless throat, 
More than a bird's joy in the note. 

For all that the glorious tree receives, 
When spring her beautiful robe lets fall. 

Crown of blossoms and wealth of leaves, 
A pillar in earth's great banquet-hall, 
There is only the robin's voice for all. 

Sing, sing on, glad heart, sweet mouth! 
The precious burthen is all for thee; 

Wind of the west and wind of the south 
Kiss the boughs of the happy tree 
Where Joy is mated with Harmony, 

Keeping its summers with music rife, 
Its winters warm with the empty nest; 

Through its flushing and waning life. 
Still the home of the singing guest, 
Blessed always above the rest. 

THE WATCH FOR TO-MORROW 

It is Psyche that sits in her chamber. 
With windows that follow the sun; 

By the west, where the ivies clamber, 
She sits when the day is done, 
All alone ; 

And her eyes grow sad to remember, 
Looking pitiful toward the sun. 



51 



But bright with the morning-glories 
Is the look to the eastern way; 

And the Prince of the fairy-stories, 
The lover so gallant and gay, 
(Well a day!) 

Is to come with the sunrise-glories; 
To-morrow is well on the way. 

So she turns from the dying splendors. 
She looks to the morning-gate; 

O the whispers the star-deeps lend her, 
As she leans to listen and wait! 
"Lo, my fate!" 

And one that is vainly tender 
Prayeth her, early and late. 

Safe under her eyelids closing 

She hideth the welcome-sheen; 
"It is but a night's reposing, 

But dream and a silence between." 

Ah, between! 
It is silence spreading and closing. 

And an ever-beginning dream. 

The prince of the golden feather. 

He tarrieth far away; 
Through sunny and stormy weather 

She wearies of fond to-day. 
Well a day! 
Always and always together, — 

To-morrow is long on the way! 

Who waits in the dawning lonely. 

When the lattice is drawn apart? — 
Ah, love him a little, if only 
For pity of thy own heart — 
Foolish heart! 
In the watch that heareth the lonely, 
In the love that is sorrow and smart. 
52 



Nay, out of her ashes of sorrow 

Hope soareth, day after day, 
And the pitiful eyes will borrow 

New light from the eastern way, — 
Far away ; 
But they will never look on To-morrow ; 

To-morrow is dead on the way! 

IN A SHOWER 

Who can tell how rain comes down? 

Summer rain ! 
Never willing heart was shown 

Quite so plain. 
How it lights, and runs, and springs 
Down the swaying stairs of things! 
Every drop must tweak a leaf 
Or kiss a flower, for joy's relief ; 
And swell for very glee of power, 
Crying, "Wake up, now's your hour 

In the shower!" 

Thankless task it is to come 

Like the snow ; 
Ah, no wonder it is dumb, 

And sad and slow. 
From a sky all gray and bare 
Flitting through a lonesome air; 
Creeping round the dreamy world, 
Like a camp with banners furled ; 
None to challenge friend or foe, — 
O, how cold the heart must grow 

Of the snow! 

But a marching host looks out 

For the rain ; 
Green flags drooping all about 

With dusty stain ; 

53 



Little brave hearts faint with fear, — 
"O that rain or night were here!" 
Gentle dews at eve go round 
With mercies for the battle ground ; 
In such fight with drought and heat 
Glorious music is the beat 
Of its feet! 

A SPOT REVISITED 

Thou hast not fallen to decay, 

O ever-buoyant Nature! 
The streams have kept their wonted way, 

The trees their olden stature. 
The same sweet-singing waterfall 

Through the green valley leaping, 
The same calm sunshine over all 

In benediction sleeping. 

For Nature keeps her olden course 

As something fixed and holy ; 
Her streams, with all their ceaseless force. 

Wear their new channels slowly. 
While in the rock she cuts one groove 

For passage of a river. 
Our life slips down the whole remove 

From Time to the Forever. 

The acorn cone she hides in earth 

Long dews and suns must cherish ; 
And all her things of highest worth 

Grow slowly, slowly perish. 
Only this human life of ours, 

So full of wondrous promise, 
Dies quickly as the summer flowers 

That evening taketh from us. 

54 



And / am changed since when I stood 

In this eternal shadow, 
And saw beneath me field and wood, 

The river and the meadow. 
Not all the same I come to thee. 

Dear spot by memory haunted ; 
Unchanged in this, that still to me 

Thou art a land enchanted. 

IN SOLITUDE 

O ye who dwell beneath the temperate sun, 
And till the happy fields of every day. 
Know ye what lands are lying far away. 
Where never birds rejoice, nor waters run, 
But all the seasons wear the robes of one, — 
Too white, too fair for aught but death's array? 
Know ye that human hearts like yours are there, 
That human life breathes in that icy air? 
Great dawns are there, of stainless pearl and rose ; 
There the white splendours of still greater nights 
Stream up the sky : — but heavenly lights are cold ! 
And the earth moans under her weight of snows, 
Keeping a thousand uses and delights 
Hid in her breast, that never may unfold. 

A MOUNTAIN VIEW 

How dreadful is this place! There lies the world, 
Forever thinking, thinking, thinking. — Slow, 
Above her fair green plains, like mist upcurled. 
Rises a sadness born of long ago. 
Smiling as if her bloom hid naught but scars, 
How old she seems ! Between her and the stars 
Is only silence, — silence thronged and thrilled 
With the old questions, and prayers unfulfilled. 



55 



As I came up, I met the mountain brooks 
Down plunging — O how glad, and O how strong! 
Fearless beneath the black crags' frowning looks; 
O happy, tireless life, that feels no wrong, 
Nor want, nor w^aiting! I, above you, long 
To rest me from this awe in such delights. 
Man's mournful glory is that he must climb; 
O the great pain of moments most sublime! 
He should be God who sits on mountain heights, 
Not to feel all this mystery make him cold ! 
God — or so like Him, that no time seems old. 

AT THE FALLS 

All day through the cloven mountains 

Up a miracle-aisle we passed, 
And we saw the stream transfigured 

In the forest-shrine at last. 
Down where the glen sinks deepest 

Into the mountain's breast. 
We looked up and beheld it, 

High on the round world's crest, 
When a vision white and whiter 

Sprang over the arched steep, 
It was spirit, it was not water. 

Rose up from that fearful leap. 
The pure spray bathed our faces. 

And the tears for joy did well, — 
If in or out of the body 

I saw it, I cannot tell. 
But I saw a clear soul leaping. 

Chanting its last brave breath, 
Dashed into glory and lightness 

On the sharp black rocks of death,— 
Lifting white hands of rapture, 

Showering rainbow rays. 
And making the Lord God gladder 

With a great Amen of praise. 

56 



COMING 

To-day can sing of yesterday, — 
Songs tender, tinct with sorrow; 

But mute she comes along the way, 
All beautiful to-morrow. 

Her face is full of prophesies, 
Her lips have still with-holden; 

And, gazing in her radiant eyes, 
Song turns to silence golden. 

Hope mute beside her pathway stands, 
Asks nothing but the vision ; 

And turns at night with empty hands 
Still dreaming of fruition. 

Ah, Beauty, soon as present gone; 

Most fleet and most beguiling! 
Why are our hearts forever drawn 

By that strange far oH smiling? 

Why is it that from new delays 
New faith they still can borrow? 

Ah, why, but that among the days 
Comes heaven's first Good Morrow? 

She will come in with no alarms. 
Under this same low portal ; 

And clasp us as in mortal arms. 
And we shall turn immortal! 



57 



THE FIELD LADY 

She is an Indian Princess, 

To ancient honors born ; 
All ye that love a lady, 

Come bow you down to Corn. 
O thank her when you see her, 

For she it is that spread 
Her table in the wilderness. 

Whence half a world is fed. 

She is an Indian Princess ; 

Whence hath she such a grace? 
Are these the native manners 

That grow in royal place? 
She shames us with her courtesies 

So gracious and profound ; 
Her stately bows, her waving plumes. 

Her robes that trail the ground. 

To her the subtle secrets 

Of all the tribes are borne ; 
(Such whisperings, such talkings, 

Run through a field of corn!) 
O listen as you pass her. 

Be quick to sigh or laugh ; 
For you might sing your life long 

If she would tell you half. 

She is an Indian Princess, 

The West Wind is her brave. 
The Sun's her loving monarch. 

The South Wind is her slave. 
He creeps along the grasses 

To rustle at her feet; 
She droops her dainty tassels — 

In play she is so sweet! 
s8 



Of all the powers have brought her 

She makes a golden sheaf, 
With precious silken folding 

And many a shining leaf ; 
And holds it up, proclaiming, 

"I have a gift of peace!" 
Now pledge her as you take it, — 

"A thousand years increase!" 

THE MOWING 

But yesterday I passed this way, 

And stopped to watch the daisies growing 
The wind, I guessed, alone had pressed 

This field where now the men are mowing. 
The tiptoe grass, to see me pass, 

Did laugh, and like a song o'erblowing 
Did float and sink the bobolink — 

Heaven keep his nest amid the mowing! 

But oh, what fragrance fills the air, 

More dear than all the summer blowing! 
These scented banks were gleaming ranks — 

Ah, woful sweet it is, the mowing! 
I shut my eyes, I breathe quick sighs, 

I hear the cheery labor flowing, 
With bird and bee persuading me 

That naught but joy is in the mowing. 

But thou, alas; fair martyr. Grass, 

My Saint Perpetua of the meadow, 
Early and late the severing fate 

Presses thee, heedless of the shadow. 
In crowning hour of leaf and flower. 

In pride of life, in beauty glowing. 
How rich a heart was riven apart 

To yield such incense to the mowing! 

59 



A moment's dread had bowed my head ; 

Low growth am I, of Some One's sowing, 
How shall I dare to climb the air, 

Beneath that terror of the mowing? 
But these that know its utmost woe, 

Cry cheerly, "Never stint thy growing: 
Not death but gain, and life amain. 

Is all the meaning of the mowing." 

THE WEEPING WILLOW 

The churchyard hath a noble tree. 

The willow — the willow! 
She droops her head so gracefully 

The fair and stately willow. 
That acre which the Lord hath blessed, 
How calmly sweet its dwellers rest, 
With her light shadow on their beast, 

The willow, the willow! 

She looketh down her loved to see 

The willow, the willow ! 
She keeps her trust so tenderly, 

The faithful weeping willow. 
But life still creepeth over death. 
With sunshine and with singing breath, 
v\nd in green beauty flourisheth 

The willow, the willow! 

In other scenes my childhood knew 

The willow, the willow; 
Beside a meadow-brook she grew, 

The sacred weeping willow. 
There thick the glinting sunbeams lay. 
And bending gracious to our play, 
Her slender branches seemed to sway, 

The willow, the willow! 
60 



Softly the merry waters pass 

The willow — the willow ; 
And greener grows the meadow grass 

Beneath the friendly willow. 
And still I hear, on summer eves, 
The tender sighing of the leaves. 
And memory for her garlands weaves 

The willow, the willow. 

O, greener than the laurel grows 

The willow, the willow ; 
And all most blessed lives repose 

In shadow of the willow, 
A giant sorrow, green and strong, 
Where all the lesser joys may throng 

And murmur in their sweetest song 

The willow — the willow ! 

OUR DEAD 

Not where willow branches wave. 

Lay them in no sombre shadow ; 
Make the dead a sunny grave 

In the meadow, 
Where the sun may shine above them, 

With the daisies overtopping. 
And the gentle rain upon them, 

Dropping, dropping. 

Words of promise, "They shall rise," 

Have by holy lips been spoken ; 
Heaven binds anew the ties 

Death hath broken. 
Words of blessing, "For they rest," 

Consecrate their peaceful slumber 
From the grave spring hopes, the best 

That love can number. 
6i 



Death was master, cold and stern 

Tyrant of the infant ages; 
Setting lessons hard to learn 

To their sages. 
Bring his records to the light, 

Let the spring with kindly wiling 
Legends sweet upon them write 

For grief's beguiling. 

Lay the dead where dews may fall 

Blessed tears without the aching; 
Where the sight and sound of all 

May heal heart breaking, 
Sacred is the burial sod. 

Make it fair as it is worthy. 
Set the sign and seal of God 

Above the earthy. 

FLOWERS IN THE MARKET 

To be a slave, if Love were always keeper. 
Were not a fate to grieve for in our earth ; 

Where Freedom is ofttimes the saddest weeper. 
And lonely heart is wed to lofty birth. 

And so for those who reverent seek you, flowers. 
And win you from your homes in field and grove. 

You can forget the primal musing powers. 
And fill your day of beauty, all for love. 

But here, amid these thronged and stormy places. 
Where any hand may bind with chains of gold. 

How early droop the lovely waiting faces. 
How soon the plucked freshness weareth old ! 



62 



Ah, let not Pride their beauty first discover ; 

I see them gazing, full of sad surmise, 
With wistful looks, that always know their lover. 

And praying, "O redeem me," to his eyes. 

To him alone her secret each discloses; 

(Such charm the painter and the singer use;) 
Greek-maiden lily, and queen-captive roses. 

And thoughtful pansies, each a different muse. 

Not these for me! — amid the splendors lonely. 
Yet breathing patient sweetness, no regrets; 

I see a group that waiteth for me only; 
Yes, I will ransom you, my violets! 

EACH AND ALL 

Once to find the gain of loss, 
Taste the sweetness out of pain, 

Feel the uplifting of the cross, 
Is to know all fear is vain. 

And thy heart to thee shall prove. 
When its own reproaches cease, 

That the heart of all is love. 
And the end of all is peace. 

For the word is in thy soul. 

While thou seekest far and high; 

Each interprets for the whole, 
When he learns his destiny. 



63 



LOVE OR REST? 

Thou that bringest sleep, 

Still and deep, 
Come and lay my head 

In thy charmed bed. 
What if it be low, 
With coverlid of snow: 

I shall never know. 

Thou that bringest strife — 

Bitter life! 
Cease to vex mine eyes 

With thy vanities. 
Long of thee I bore 
Task that burdened sore; 

Ask of me no more. 

Yet at thy right hand 

One doth stand 
Who will weep to see 

My tranquility. 
Love : O Love ! this pain 
Rends my heart in twain, 

Turns my prayer again. 

One for whom I pray, 

All the way. 
Waits with Death, I know; 

Yet I cannot go. 
One is here so sweet ; 
O 'twere heaven complete 

If Love and Rest could meet! 



64 



OUR SHARE 

Joy for the angels, but hope for man ! 

Pleasure for creatures of calmer clay ; 
We may rise or dip for a little span, 

But the soul must live in its own old way. 

Rest for the spirits whose fight is won. 

Faith for the striving, and peace for the pure ; 

But hope for sinners, all under the sun. 
For worse, for better, the one thing sure. 

Love for all hearts in His image made; 

Fear He laid on the evil powers; 
We may thrill with yearning, or shrink with dread, 

Still we are the human and hope is ours. 

Our life is brief and our work is low, 
And our lot at best is a narrow scope; 

But He loved, — in our uttermost want we know 
This world of men, for He gave it hope. 

It was spreading a great sky full of stars. 
Leaving His all in the search of desire; 

It is Heaven that leans from her burning bars, 
And draws her lovers through dark and fire. 

And even beside the wonderful sea. 

To the chant of its awful and unknown powers, 
"Hail," we say, trembling, "Eternity! 

For hope is forever and ever ours!" 



6s 



HIGH AND LOW 

A little nook, a barren nook, 

Lowest and darkest in the hollow, 

Where never sunbeam came to look. 

Forsaken of the willful brook 
That turned aside to follow 

Where the first faint April sun 

Through greening meadows let it run. 

On the happier slopes anigh 

I watched the sunlight flickering, 
And heard the lonely hollow sigh 

(Was it my own heart's murmuring?), 
"I am forgotten of the spring, 
Now will the earth grow warm and light, 
I can hear through all the night 

The buds awake in the trees above, 
For they think the birds are on their flight 

Back to the nests they love. 

"Trees are stately things," it said, 

"What they cover, who should know? 
They will take on their glorious heads 
All the bounty the heaven sheds, 

And grandly they will spread and grow, 
When the hill-side is daisied white, 
And the summer is perfect quite, 
I shall be silent, and mute, and lone, 
Never a thing to call my own 
Of all the summer's green and white. 

"Poor little lonely nook!" I said. 

"Alas! for things that are overgrown, 
Alas! for things that were only made 
To live in a roval beauty's shade. 

And not for any of their own! 
66 



Sad fate that lesser lives must bear — 
To that which hath is the double share." 

Ah, subtle heart, that so will feign 

Shape to an unavowed regret. 
Pitying self by another name, 
Did ever hollow so complain? 
Did ever Nature so forget? 
When I followed the brook again, 

Nor leaves nor buds were open yet. 
But in the spot so lone and bare 
I-XD ! the spring's first flower was there ! 

QUESTIONING 

Earth has no loss. Life-giving God, 

Thy will in Nature is not crost; 
Though quick with myriad graves her sod. 

There's never any written — lost, — 
If w^e, who doubtful meanings scan, 

Might from her pages take a text 
To prove the destiny of man, 

And by this world's light read the next ! 

She counts her springs by thousand years. 

Sure all her losses to regain ; 
Alas! that costlier human tears 

Should be more fruitless than her rain ! 
Our life the only wasted thing, 

God's purpose only here o'erthrown. 
The stars in happy circles sing, 

And souls be wanderers alone! 



67 



While that strong Hand is holding still, 

Earth-atoms, we are self-undone ; 

He leaves our erring, feeble will | 

To wander from the central sun. j 

O waste ! O loss of unknown worth ! ^ 

If we indeed be what we think, I 

And walk so blindly such an earth, | 

And stand so close on such a brink ! i 

'i 

Sometimes we deem no final dark | 

Shall quench the least light God has given, i 

No far abysses hide the spark ' 

That once was lit for love and heaven ; , 
That of his creatures none shall fail 

To stand at last in his true place, 1 

No mist of evil always pale i 

The brightness of the Father's face. 

Ah Lord! when Thou shalt make all right, ; 

Shall evil ever breathe again ! 
When nothing stands across Thy light, 

Shall the great Shadow darken then ? 
Alas ! the upper heaven is wide, j 

Yet clouds ma}'^ shut from us the skies! i 

But this is from the earthward side, ' 

Angels may see it otherwise. ] 

NIGHT AND MORNING | 

Light went out of the world, \ 

And everywhere was weeping; | 

Tears in the flowers' eyes, \ 

Sighs from the zephyrs sleeping, j 

Light came into the world, — j 

All were asleep for sorrow; ' 

Then softly stole she in 

And kissed them each Good Morrow. ( 

68 I 



A LOST CANARY 

My little bird has taken wings and fled, 
But not the pretty feather-wings he wore, 
They lie here useless, folded evermore. 
And tender voices say "The bird is dead." 

My beautiful ! But something is withdrawn ; 
The downy head is lying limp and low, 
Nor turns to meet the welcome light or throw 
A quick 'Good morning' Ah, the bird is gone! 

Always he was so glad to see the sun 

This captive lover of the light and air. 

My darling! hast thou found them otherwhere 

And are the cloudy days for thee all done? 

And hast thou learned the meaning of the wings 
That kept a flutter in the tiny breast? 
Hast found a land where liberty may rest 
With peace, and joy is at the heart of things? 

Where love may build, secure from fearful care 
And truth is in the blue sky smiling down, 
Nor cruel changes ever scorch or drown 
O, if such lands there be, the birds are there ! 

Go, gentle wanderer, from the narrow room 
That was thy world a little while ago, 
New worlds to find, new happy ways to know 
And Death make light for thee his mighty doom. 

Yes, go beloved ! Prison days are o'er ; 
Those fairy wings that never tried the way 
Yet surely will not fail thee or betray. 
May I but meet thee on that other shore! 

69 



THE TWO MITES 

What if the woman Jesus praised, 
(Who knew not that the Master gazed) 
Had kept her gift, because so small. 
Ashamed, or loth to give her all? 

Ah, then, how great her loss had been! 
And empty her exalted place; 
And many a willing gift, since then. 
Had missed its gladdest grace! 

MUCH ASKETH MORE 

When the Giver made the wings 
He called the little birds to come; 

He put on them the radiant things 
But their great delight was dumb. 

"Who," He said, "shall have the song?" 
Quick their hearts began to beat ; 

Wings began to stir and long, 
Joy ran wild in head and feet. 

"O what bliss, what bliss to fly!" 
Sang the bird within the breast; 

Ah, that joy must speak or die! 
So He smiled, and gave the rest. 

THE HEM OF THE GARMENT 

He walked in the earth and the heaven. 
The Lord in his raiment bright; 

His robe is crimson at even. 

It is gold in the morning light, — 

And it trails on the dusky mountains 
With a silver fringe at night. 
70 



High over the people thronging [ 

Is the h'ght of his pure, calm face; ' 

Can the uttermost need and longing 

Come fronting that awful face? \ 

But to touch the beautiful garment 

Is a comfort and a grace. ' 

The tender sweep of the grasses 

Is smoothing away the smart; ' 

And the light soft wind that passes ' 

Is a balm to the very heart. ' 

Only the hem of his garment! 

But I kiss it for my part. 

The seamless blue and the border, ( 

Where the earth and the heaven meet ; j 

And the colors in mystic order j 

In the broideries round his feet; 1 

Is but the hem of his garment, — 1 

But virtue is there complete. ! 

He turns, and I am not hidden, i 

And he smiles and blesses low; \ 

Did the gift come all unbidden? 

O, to think He would not know j 

(Through even the hem of his garment) ' 
Is was faith that touched him so! 

LIFE'S TWILIGHT j 

'I 
With lessening strain and fainter breath. 
Life slowly easing into death — 
When on tired eyes and heavy head 
The weight of sleep begins to fall 
Before the couch is spread. 
Full ready to lie down, and glad 
When comes the messenger we call 
Azrael — is it sad? 
71 



No more the rugged paths of youth ; 

The feet grow tired, the way grows smooth, 

The valley lieth green below ; 

The heart is grown in love with peace, 

The sharpness gone from woe. 

Time with the old deals tenderly 

Making the joy of living cease, 

That death-pain may not be. 

What is it that we name delight? 
Youth with tortures exquisite, 
Called joys a double edged sword, 
A sword whose blunter side is grief — 
Youth heart moved by a word — 
Its broken sunshine, ripple-swayed ; 
Of loveliest things, of cloud and leaf 
Its flitting shadows made? 

Youth, with dreams that ne'er come true; 

Its great impossibles to do. 

Its little possibles undone ; 

Its blossoms falling fruitlessly. 

Its faithless April sun? 

Ah, overfull and restless heart! 

Time soothes ; ere quietness can be 

Must losses do their part. 

That sap should fail and leaves should drop 

And half the living pulses stop 

Ere the tree falls, is sad, you say? 

Nay now, — one learns to be content 

With slower living; day 

So softly, sweetly going down 

That none can say, the light is spent 

Till night puts on her crown. 



72 



A HARVEST HYMN 

From evil seed in a heedless hand 

A bitter harvest is ripe to-day ; 
White w^ith grain is thy neighbors' land, 

And with songs he beareth the sheaves away. 
And heavy with fruitage dark and deep, 

Thy fields are waiting : — Come forth and reap ! 

Sow to the wind, and reap the storm; 

Sow to the flesh, and gather its dust; 
Fear and trembling and wrath and scorn — 

So earth repayeth the baleful trust. 
And the changeless laws of the harvest heap 
Evil on evil: — Come forth and reap! 

Solemnly, slowly, gather with tears. 
Come with a prayer instead of a song; 

And bring for fruit of the wasted years 
A heart o'erladen with grief and wrong. 

For the power whose heralds are fire and wind, 

Sends peace by a sword to the soul that sinned. 

Every thorn hath a healing pain, 

Quick to sever 'twixt soul and sense ; 

And deep in the blood-red flower of shame 
Is a fragrant heart of penitence. 

And better thy neighbor his joy could spare 

Than thou the sorrow that crowns thy share. 

In the hand of the Lord is a woful cup. 
Full to the brim of a dark red wine ; 

In the Holy Name if thou drink'st it up, 
The depths shall yield thee a draught divine. 

For Love sits throned in the thunder place. 

And the wrath of Heaven itself is grace. 



73 



When the voice of the reapers, clear and strong, 
To the court of the blessed is wafted in, 

There joy thrills deep to a trembling song, 
From the ashen, desolate fields of sin. 

And they listen with answering tears, tho while 

They look to the wonderful Light and smile. 

Till they turn where the Shadow stands, and lo ! 

The face of the terrible angel Pain 
Shines full in the glory, with eyes that know 

A great glad secret, a priceless gain. 
And the shadowing cloud is a rainbow-flame, 
And the mystery whispers a grand new Name. 

THE DARK RIVER 

Beyond a thousand rivers, deep and wide 

I came at last to one 
All in a mist so bright the other side 

Lay dazzling in the sun. 

There sank the heart of flesh, no longer brave 

Sank down in low affright 
More dreadful far, than wind, and night, and wave 

Seemed that exceeding light. 

And a voice cried, "This barrier is the last 

Between thee and thy goal ; 
But o'er this tide, hath nothing mortal passed; 

Come forth alone, O Soul ! 

Then I went forth into the golden mist, 

That closed on either hand, 
Who would believe I walked upon the crest 

Of waters safe to land? 



74 



A thousand times the waves went o'er my head 

In that dark land ere while 
And still this unknown river was my dread 

I say with wondering smile. 

THE ROYAL NAME 

Love is rich in his own right, 
He is heir of all the spheres, 

In his service, day and night. 

Swing the tides and roll the j^ears, 

What has he to ask of fate? 
Crown him ! glad or desolate. 

Sorrow is his servant good ; 

Sorrow dark and dull and grim. 
Serving none but royal blood. 

Spoils the treasure-cells for him. 
Joy so loves him, she will take 

All disguises for his sake. 

Time puts out all other flames 

But the glory of his eyes; 
His are all the sacred names, 

His the solemn mysteries. 
Crown him ! In his darkest day, 

He has heaven to give away ! 

THE FLOWER OF THE SPIRIT 

From longing, that fine seed, 
Dropt in this clay by wanderers of the air. 
Spring the green strength of hope, and faith, and 
deed — 

The crowning flower of prayer. 



75 



Comfort and use it bears ; 
Men freely pluck of leaf, and fruit, and stem, 
Much for the nation's healing; as for prayers, 

The angels gather them. 

The fair mysterious bloom 
Melts from our sight, and shuns too eager eyes, — 
And, the sole seen fruition, in its room 

The seed of longing lies. 

Flower of perfume and light! 
Thy growth which sows the wilderness so wide. 
Blessing the earth with green, the air with white; 

Its power hath testified. 

I know not what thou art, 
Where Heaven wears thee radiant on her breast, 
Our talisman, that ever keeps our part. 

In memory with the blest, — 

But ne'er were harvest worth 
This flower if all the world could bloom to-night; 
What miracle, should morning find on earth 

So fragrant and so white! 

A WATCH IN THE NIGHT 

The earth is all in shadow, 

The heavens alone are bright ; 
Deep after deep of splendor 

Is breaking out of night. 
I climbed the lone watch-tower, 

The dark and winding stair. 
To see a world that lieth 

In glory unaware. 



76 



Below me in the darkness 

Are some that sigh in sleep ; 
Some weary with the slumber, 

And some that wake to weep. 
And here and there One goeth 

With footsteps still and light, 
"Come up, and I will show thee 

The secret of the night," 

Come to the lone watchtower, 

O ye that fear and wait 
Within the straightened army, 

And listen for your fate. 
And ye that sigh for morning. 

Come, look with steadfast gaze, 
Till prayer, with face uplifted 

Is glorified to praise. 

"What seest thou from thy tower, 

O watcher of the night?" 
"Above the camp beleaguered 

A sign of growing light. 
"Hearest thou the foe advancing. 

With swift and stealthy tread?" 
I hear a host rejoicing, 

A shouting overhead. 

Ten thousand times ten thousand. 

In armor holy-bright, 
The helpers and the watchers 

Come flashing through the night. 
I see the years eternal, 

Upon their shining way. 
And I know that mortal sorrow 

Is a thing of yesterday. 



77 



How clear across the darkness 

Height answereth to height, 
As brother calls to brother 

The watchword of the night; 
The sleepers wake and listen, 

The mourners cry. How long? 
And softl}^ falls the answer, 

A blessing and a song. 

"ABOU BEN ADHEM" 
{A continuation of Leigh Hunt's Poem) 

Abou Ben Adhem, wise with life's increase, 
Awoke one night — not from a dream of peace. 
For sorely on his faithful spirit weighed 
The pangs of all the creatures God had made; 
And worst, man's power abused, man's charge be- 
trayed. 
He listened, till it seemed the very stone 
To shame man's cruel hardness, made its moan. 
But vain the speechless, agonized appeal. 
While sage and saint seek only human weal. 

Then to the watcher, sad for human blame, 
The Angel with the Record, tempting, came; 
Who stood and said: "Dost thou not envy then. 
These, who have loved and served their fellow- 
men?" 

Ben Adhem saw a long and shining roll ; 

Heroes and Martyrs, Prophets of the soul, 

Great Preachers, Statesmen moulding freedom's 

laws. 
And grand Reformers, brave in duty's cause. 

"All these," said Adhem, "these have wrought and 

planned 
For Man already rich in brain and hand. 
78 



PVho pleads for those whom few can understand — 
Our dear dumb brothers, piteous-eyed and meek? 
O, that I were the tongue for them to speak! 
Nay, not for me let Fame her laurels bind, 
Nor Faith her palms; but, if thou wilt be kind, 
Write me as one who fain would choose his lot 
With those whom man despised and Heaven forgot ; 
Who found in fields and woods his friendly teachers, 
And ever loved his lowliest fellow-creatures." 

The Angel wrote and vanished. The next night, 
He came and showed, high on his roll of light, 
The names of those who served their own race best ; 
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

LIFE'S CHANGES 

You said, my tender comforter 

'Joy comes to you apace ; 
Griefs are like clouds' Ah, that they weie. 

In that they left no trace! 

As brightly the eternal skies 

Their sunshine may renew 
But for the light in human eyes, 

Long rains will dim the blue. 

You said, 'To-morrow I shall come, 

And find a sunny brow' ; 
But age not counted in the sum 

Of years, I carry now. 

Not death, but life, the charge doth bear 

To change and to destroy; 
A sorrow never leaves us where 

It finds us, nor a joy. 



79 



Never in any day to be 

What we were yesterday; 
More than a joy is passed from me — 

Myself is gone away. 

SWEETNESS OF BITTERNESS 

When all the earth was quaking, 
And seas in maddest roll, 

And Heaven itself forsaking, 
I found thee, O my soul! 

When once I stood forgotten. 
With naught to lose or spend, 

Faithful among the faithless 
I knew thee, O my friend! 

And when no friend was with me, 
And grief my heart o'ercame, 

I met the midnight angel. 
And learned the secret name. 

Earth closed her bars about me, 

I looked for no release. 
Yet from that depth of sorrow 

I brought the pearl of peace. 

And when, in fiercest struggles, 
My soul is whelmed and whirled 

Beneath the curse of ages. 
The burden of the world, — 

Then even by pity's heartbreak 
I measured mercy's scope; 

Who knows the deeper anguish 
Must claim the greater hope. 



80 



Wliom seekest thou in heaven? 

He hides in every cloud ; 
He stoops beside the fallen, 

He lifteth up the bowed. 

He sits and smiles at pleasure, 
But O, He runs to grief; 

His mightiness is gentle. 
Past hope and past belief. 

The cup of death He giveth 
Foams bitter at the brim; 

But drink, — thine eyes are lightened 
At last to look on Him. 



THE GREAT SECRET 

O cold still lips that have drunk so deep 

The cup that we all must drink. 
Speak but once from your marvelous sleep, 
Smiling on us who shudder and weep — 
Is it so dread as we think? 

O blessed souls who have found the truth 

Of all that is said or seems. 
Tell us, seekers in age and youth — 
O, tell us, dying to grasp the truth. 

Is it as sweet as the dreams? 

Drop not a word of the strange new song. 

Or the wonder of having died ; 
But once to us, who tremble and long. 
Let a single Yes come sure and strong — 
O, say you are satisfied. 



8x 



THE KING'S SHIPS 

God hath so many ships upon the sea! 

His are the merchantmen that carry treasure, 
The men-of-war, all bannered gallantly. 

The little fisher-boats and barks of pleasure. 
On all this sea of time there is not one 
That sailed without the glorious name thereon. 

The winds go up and down upon the sea, 

And some they lightly clasp, entreating kindly, 

And waft them to the port where they would be; 
And other ships they buffet, long and blindly, 

The cloud comes down on the great sinking deep, 

And on the shore the watchers stand and weep. 

And God hath many wrecks within the sea; 

Oh, it is deep! I look in fear and wonder; 
The wisdom throned above is dark to me, 

Yet it is sweet to think His care is under; 
That yet the sunken treasure may be drawn 
Into His storehouse when the sea is gone. 

So I, that sail in peril on the sea, 

With my beloved, whom yet the waves may cover 
Say: God hath more than angels' care of me, 

And larger share than I in friend and lover. 
Why weep ye so, ye watchers on the land? 
This deep is but the hollow of His hand ! 

PREMONITION 

A shudder runs across 

The water rippling by; 
A tremor through the leaves, 

And in the heart a sigh. 

82 



In flush of summertlde, 
When every fear is dumb, 

When all the air is charmed — 
How has the sadness come? 

Ah, Death is in the land, — 
His kingdom comes apace; 

And many a messenger 
Is sent before his face. 

Our hearts arise in might 
To strive with giant forms; 

The old ancestral foes 

That walk in night and storms. 

But there are nameless elves 
That haunt the brightest hour. 

Flit on the sunbeam's edge 
And lurk in every flower. 

Before their lances keen 

Our blossom-pleasures shrink; 
They brush the foam away 

From every cup we drink. 

But when he comes, his steps 
Are silent in the snow; 

His touch is soft and light. 
His voice is wonderous low. 

One greeting face to face 
And all the dread is o'er: 

We shall not flee nor turn, 
Nor tremble any more. 



83 



THE EASTER CROSS 

O Christ, whose cross began to bloom 
With peaceful lilies, long ago, 

Each year above thy empty tomb 

More thick the Easter garlands glow; 

O'er all the wounds of that sad strife 
Bright wreathes the new, immortal life. 

The hands that once the cross upraised 
All power in heaven and earth doth fill; 

Of men desired, of angels praised. 
Why sits He silent, waiting still? 

Alas! in many a heart of pain 
The Christ is crucified again. 

Low lies the world He died to save. 
And feels not yet her Easter morn, — 

Still holds the victory of the grave 
O'er all his brethren younger-born. 

His soul yet travails by their side. 
Its long desire unsatisfied. 

Sad symbol of the deathly strain, — 

In resurrection-light revealed 
The sign of hope that conquers pain, 

Of joys that sharpest sorrows yield — 
Hail, thou the first that bearest flowers! 

The burden, not the grace, is ours. 

And yet the cross is dropping balm; 

May we not come so near at last 
That all the grief shall shine with calm, 

And beauty hide the ashen past? 
O that our stone were rolled away! 

O that our cross could bloom to-day! 



84 



THE NEW CREATION 

If one in a happy hour 

Had fashioned a scented flower, 

Or quickened the grass to grow, 
Or moulded a bird to sing — 
O, what a wonderful thing! 

That were a charm to know. 

But, O man, this work of thine 
Is a work yet more divine ; 

For the wilderness shall bloom 
From the seed which thou canst sow, 
And the song which thou dost know 

Is a spell to higher doom. 

There is naught in earth or air, 
So fragrant and so fair 

As a deed of perfect grace ; 
There is never a bird that sings 
Such wonderful, haunting things, 

As a soul that seeks God's face. 

RIGHT 

Low to myself I said the word ; 

With deeper thrill through voice and will 

It rang as with a shout; 

Such power was in it to be heard, 

And from that hour my soul grew still 

And put away its doubt. 

A battle-cry is in that word ; 
A might to wield on deadliest field, 
Which he who grasps shall feel 
As if his hand had drawn a sword 
And triumph were forestalled and sealed 
With the first battle-peal. 
85 



A royal word, a conquering word! 
Which none could speak with lips so weak 
But straight they should grow strong, 
As if unknowing he had heard 
The mighty shout the victors make 
And echoed their new song. 

The grand-word! the eternal word! 
Given us whereby to glorify 
This daily work and care; 
Building our temples to the Lord 
After the heavenly house on high 
Where the City lies four-square ; 

And straight and perfect lives do grow 
(Whose image is in form of His) 
From heavenly height to height; 
So let the Will be done below ; 
O Duty, it needs only this 
And thou art named Delight! 

A SONNET 

"Lord, that I may receive my si,^ht." 

We need a daily vision, like to that 

Of the Apocalyptic Throne in Heaven, 

To lift our hearts up from the earthly leaven ; 

And from the shadow, wherein we have sat 

So long, God's light looks blinding. Wakened at 
The Judgment-morning, sight will be too clear, 
For eyes that long were holden ; bring it near. 

Thou who art in the light! That we thereat 
May learn our life; and this reality. 

Always so close, constrain us to be true! 
Our souls are heavy. Ah, if we could see 

As Thou seest — even as Thine angels do — 
86 



How would life change to us, and we to Thee! 
Thou wouldst not need create the heavens and the 
earth anew. 

THE USES OF LIFE 

Though we climb fame's proudest height, 

Though we sit on hills afar, 

Where the thrones of triumph are, — 
Though all deepest mysteries be open to our sight, — 

If we win not by that power. 

For the world another dower, 
If this great Humanity share not in our gain. 

We have lived our life in vain. 

Though we revel in sweet dreams. 

Though with poet's eye we look 

Full on Nature's open book. 
And our spirits wander singing with the birds and 
streams 

If we let no music in 

To the world of grief and sin. 
If we draw no spirit heavenward by the strain 

We have lived our life in vain 

Though our lot be calm and bright 

Though upon our brows we wear 

Youth and grace and beauty rare, 
And the hours go swiftly, singing in their flight; 

If we let no glory down 

Any darkened life to crown, 
If our grace and joyance have no ministry for pain. 

We have lived our life in vain. 

Though for weary years we toil 
Though we gather all the gold 
From the mines of wealth untold: — 

87 



Though from farthest shores of ocean we have 
brought the spoil, 
What then at the last is won, 
If we hear not God's "Well done"? 
If the world's want and sorrow be not lessened by 
our gain 
We have lived our life in vain. 

Though we be, in heart and hand, 

Mighty with all foes to cope 

Rich in courage and in hope, 
Fitted as strong laborers in the world to stand, 

If with these we right no wrong 

What avails it to be strong? 
If we strengthen not the weak, raise not the bowed 
again 

We have lived our life in vain. 

To the giver shall be given ; 

If thou wouldst walk in light 

^lake other spirits bright. 
Who seeking for himself alone, ever entered 
heaven ? 

In blessing we are blest. 

In labor find our rest 
If we bend not. to the world's work, heart and hand 
and brain 

We have lived our life in vain. 

Selfishness is utter loss; 
Life's most perfect joy and good — 
Ah ; how few have understood : 
Only One hath proved it fully, and he died upon 
the cross, 
Taking on himself the curse 
So to bless a Universe. 



If we follow not his footsteps through the path- 
way straight and plain, 
We have lived our life in vain. 

UP AND DOWN 

Every day is a marriage-day ; 

Ring bells, ring for the bride! 
Toll, toll — for along the Vv'ay 

A funeral goes beside. 
Death and birth, all over the earth, 

The world is so very wide. 

Upward and downward pathways slope 
From every level whereon we stand ; 

'Rejoice with trembling, and mourn with hope' 
The fat?ful hours command. 

Birth and death in a single breath. 
For the- end is close at hand. 

Smiles are growing in other eyes 

When with sighing my moments run ; 

Half the world in the shadow lies. 
And half the world in the sun. 

I to-morrow may miss my sorrow. 
And still the world lack none. 

AN UNSPOKEN QUESTION 

Would you love or hate me, if you knew all, — 
You that to-day I am calling friend? 

In vain to your heart my heart may call, — 
Yea, though I speak, will you comprehend? 

If the saddest failure, the strife before, 

Alike were shown, would you praise, or blame? 

If you knew — that I am both less and more 

Than the thing you see — would you rest the same? 
89 



If the depths of passion, the heights of prayer, 
Lay bare, could you measure the low, the high. 

By the strange temptation you could not share, 
And the great revealing that passed you by? 

Ah, you are dear, but I dare not call ! 

Too dread are the deeps, and the heights above. 
Is friendship false, then ? But One knows all ; 

Does he love or hate me? He says, "I love." 

FOR EVERY DAY 

So poor we call our life, so little worth ! 

Yet every day, to every soul on earth. 

Lofty or lowly, prison-bound or free. 

Come all the loves of heaven with pleading grace. 

Comes Truth, adored of gods, and prays, choose me! 

And Joy on shining wings cries. Follow me! 

And sorrow crowned with stars says. Learn of me! 

And Love waits always with divinest face, 

Whose smile alone can make a heavenly place. 

The All-beloved ! to suffer, serve or reign 

With her is sweetest pleasure, sweeter pain. 

O earth, what hero-stories ours should be! 

Dear earth, what grace abounds o'er sin in thee! 

Where hast thou yet a spot of common ground 

Unwet by martyr blood or sacred tears? 

When comes a day whose strife may not be crowned 

With the same glory as the eternal years? 

MY NEIGHBORS IN THE CHERRY TREE 

He sang with her gaily, "O fly with me 

To a beautiful home in the blossoming tree; 

We will swing with the frolicsome breeze, and 

dine 
On cherries that brim with the clearest of wine." 
90 



She listened and heard, and believed every word. 
For he was her very ideal of a bird. 
That's just like a woman ! 'twas never denied 
There's nothing too pretty to say to a bride. 

But the world that can dance at the wedding to- 
day 

To-morrow goes on in the old worky-way; 

There's the nest to be built, and the children to 
rear. 

And him to be managed and kept in his sphere. 

"If this thing is to pay," I once heard her say, 

"I must do all the work, and I will have my way!" 

That's just like a woman! I know the whole case; 

Bless your tough little heart! Make him stay in 
his place! 

Housekeeping grows weary, homekeeping is sweet ; 
Put the heart in the work, how it tethers the feet! 
How quiet the wrings are, that brood over wings ! 
O, she makes in her musing the song that he sings. 
But all her red breast is down in the nest. 
And half of her graces would never be guessed; 
You true little woman! no flutter, no fret, — 
Too utter a giving to harbor regret. 

While waiting for cherries the blossoms will fall. 
And the leaves thicken round you and babies and 

all; 
And the song will be sung ere you come to the 

feast. 
And the joys that you counted may turn to the 

least. 
O winsome warm breast, deep down in the nest. 
Do you know, of all blessings, content is the best? 
That the light and the bloom and the singers apart 
Know nothing so glad as your joy, little heart? 
91 



THE SNOWBIRD 

He sits in winter's sleet, and the snow is round his 
feet, 
But he cares not for the cold ; 
For his little cheerful heart thinks the snow as fair 
a part 
As the summer's green and gold. 

On the branches bare and brown, with their crystals 
for a crown, 
Sits the tiny winter bird ; 
In the dark and stormy days lightening the lonely 
ways 
With his constant cheery word. 

To his mission he is true; God has work for him to 
do, — 
With his happy song to cheer; 
In his sweet life's simple speech lessons high and 
glad to teach 
In the dark days of the year. 

Oh his little heart is strong, and he never thinks it 
wrong 
That to him this lot is given; 
Never envies birds that sing in the summer or the 
spring 
Underneath a sunny heaven. 

So he is a teacher sent with a lesson of content 

To all spirits that are sad ; 
And his song, with richest freight, comes to all the 
desolate. 

Bidding sorrow's self be glad. 



92 



"Wouldst thou choose thy time or way?" seems the 
bh'thesome tune to say, — 
"God hath ordered these for thee ; 
Where thy life can praise him best he hath set thee; 
only rest 
And his purpose thou shalt see." 

Ye around whose life the snow lieth heavily and 
low, 
Take a lesson from the bird ; 
As God giveth you to say, strive to charm the gloom 
away, 
Whether heeded or unheard. 

God hath singers, many a one, that can praise him in 
the sun, 
As the happy cherubim ; 
But I think the songs they raise who are toilers in 
dark ways 
Are a sweeter sound to him. 

Not by outer joy and sweetness does he judge of 
life's completeness. 
But by surer test of worth ; 
It may be he gives the grace of his heavens highest 
place 
To the lowest of the earth. 

THE SKY 

So blue, so high! Earth well might think in dread 
To feel the awfulness of such a height; 
Yet she lies smiling at the fair broad sight. 
The while a million worlds have room to tread 
Each lone in space, and room still overhead. 
The glory and the blessing of the light 
Infold her from that shadowing Infinite. 

93 



So low humanity is overspread; 

O earth, I look up to as broad a space 

But can I smile in looking? Must I not 

Fall as the angels do before God's face, 

Nor stir its clear noon silence with my thought. 

Which soars no farther than the birds, — so high 

Over my life spreads God's eternity! 

THE SWIFT MESSENGER 

O Ariel, tricksy and dainty, 

You spirit of finest air, 
That was given the first man Adain 

The breath of his mouth to bear; 
Well suited the pair in Eden 

Your happy, wandering will; 
But the world is wider and sadder, 

And you are a trifler still, 

O Hermes, with winged sandals, 

O teacher of tongues and arts; 
That came to the craving nations 

As the world grew in their hearts; 
Unbarring the gates of learning 

To stores for the people's need, 
And teaching the cloistered bookmen 

To write for the world to read. 

Fly swiftly the wide earth over, 

O Hermes, whose feet are wings! 
Before you the darkness lightens, 

Behind you the desert sings. 
But the world spins faster and faster, 

And blessing must strive with ban, 
And where shall we find a swifter 

To carry the words of man? 



94 



On him in the latter stages ] 

(And his signals all are dumb) i 

The train of the thundering ages, I 

The ends of the world, are come. !] 

Forth on the wild steam-horses j 

He rides to the last affray; 

But whom shall he send before him, \ 

And who shall prepare his way? J 

i: 
His cry came up to the Watcher 

That sits for the help of men. 

And He said, "I must send another, 1 

Or the world must halt again." \ 

So He sought in the host of spirits | 

The spirit that swiftest ran, ! 

And "Go," He said to the Lightning, ] 

"And carry the words of man!" ' 

I 

AT SUNSET i 

i 

What lights are streaming, what flashes playing, ' 

What joy in heaven when day is done! ; 

What can the jubilant signs be saying, S 

Unless they shine for a victory won ? i 

Over the armies twain retreating, ] 

Over the daily foughten field, \ 

Ever the watchers send their greeting, i 

Day after day is the end revealed. 

Lift up your heads, ye faint and doubting, \ 

Look, ye wounded and travel-sore; ' 
All heaven is ready to break in shouting, 

Hushing a joy that smiles the more. 

In the long struggle of good and evil, j 

On the edges of time a light doth spring, j 

And over the new world's slow upheaval j 

Morning and night the angels sing. 

95 ; 



The wonderful silence, flushing, burning, 

Full of a rapture no words can say. 
Burns in our hearts as eastward turning 

We move through dark to another day, 
Slowly the paling flood of splendor, 

Ebbing back to a jasper sea, 
Dies away in a roselight tender. 

And only the promise stays with me. 

HALF-HEARD 

Poets must ever be their own best listeners. 

No word from man to men 

Shall sound the same again ; 
Something is lost through all interpreters. 

Never for finest thought 

Can crystal word be wrought 
That to the crowd afar 
Shall show it — more than telescope a star. 

Each for himself creates the world in which he 
dwells. 
Thy world is only thine. 
Whatever light may shine 
Outward, for thee the inner glory wells. 
Another earth and skies 
Are seen by other eyes. 

Each from his centre rounds 
God's universe, and j'et it hath no bounds. 

Sing; but the song that took its sweetest tone 

From deeper things unsaid, 

Its fullest sense unread. 
Another will interpret by his own. 

To him shall come the line 

With music not of thine. 

None shall the whole repeat; 
Call it enough if they shall answer it. 

96 



Close as we go, with clasped hands, one way, 

No less we walk apart ; 

Something in every heart 
Must hold it from all other hearts away. 

Yet shall that silent chord 

Be vocal to its Lord. 

Some sweetest notes would fall 
Vainly in heaven, did not One answer all. 

SUNSHINE 

Hast thou come down the airy ways 
With such a word for common days? 
Come all these myriad skyey miles 
To make dark faces break in smiles? 

With what chill drops upon her brow 
Forth from the presence-chamber now 
Comes earth, through morning's golden bars 
From awful converse with the stars. 

The stars! they tell us wondrous things — 
Nothing but hints and vanishings; 
But sunshine folds us, safe and warm. 
As in a dear Almighty Arm. 

And makes us know, past fear and doubt, 
That ours is not a world left out ; 
Though mystery rounds the grander sphere, 
Love's special providence is here. 

While through the maze of worlds I grope 
I find no surety for my hope: 
When joy streams down from heaven I know 
Eternal Good bears witness so ! 



97 



A BARK WITHDRAWN 

Just launching from a sunlit strand 
Upon a calm and smiling main, 

O little bark! what unseen hand 

Hath drawn thee to the shore again? 

What friend forestalled the storm to be? 
For well we know this treacherous sea, 

O little bark — unfit for thee. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS 

The children wake to joys that laugh 

Their happy dreams to scorn; 
All in the dark the bells begin 

To chime on Christmas morn : 
"Good news to men of childlike hearts — 

Our Saviour Christ is born!" 

What made the earth grow wondrous white 

This blessed Christmas Eve? 
It was the spotless robe she wore. 

The purest to receive; — 
Come down, O whiter peace of God ! 

Our stained souls retrieve. 

Where is He that is born our King? 

Oh, not in Bethlehem now ; 
His star is every star that shines 

Where reverent love doth bow 
To bless His little ones with gifts — 

O Master, there art Thou ! 

Now on the little children's hearts 

Thy spell of meekness lay. 
Till all who- see shall be constrained 

With joyful awe to say: 
"The Holy Child is in the house — 

Sure this is Christmas Day!" 

98 



Come near us all, thou Christ of God ! 

Thyself who wouldst not please, 
And teach us how to do the things 

We talk of on our knees, 
That life's thorn-tree to-day may bloom 

With fragrant charities. 

Our Guest shall keep this day apart 

From all the common days. 
And for His sake the bairnies' mirth 

Shall turn to gentle ways, 
Remembering that the Blessed Babe 

Is playing in their plays. 

And let us elder children run 

His errands every way. 
With smiles and deeds to warm and fill 

His kindred cast- away, 
Till all the saddest lanes shall know 

That this is Christmas Day. 

And so our feasting hearts shall keep 

The holy time alight. 
And at its close we'll pray to Him — 

(He makes the home so bright) — 
"Dear Lord, stay with us through the year, 

Go not this Christmas night!" 

REGRET 

Where's the hearth, however low, 

Knoweth not this guest? 
When the sunset embers glow. 

Enters she with Rest. 
In the empty place she sits. 

Lets her eyelids fall; 
Through the dusk a shadow flits, 

Deepening over all. 

99 



One that stealeth from her place 

Every heart hath stirred ; 
None that looketh in her face 

Asketh her a word. 
Hands that seem a cloudy waft 

Clasping on her knees; 
Eyes with wonted musing soft,- 

What is it she sees? 

High in many a fairy spire 

Leaps the mimic flame ; 
Golden palaces afire 

Die the death of fame. 
Faces glimmer, hands are swept, 

Turned to ashes cold; 
In her eyes are tears unwept. 

Tears that were of old. 

Girt with memories sublime 

Looks her crownless brow; 
Was she princess in her time? 

Who can answer now? 
Of the old immortals she, 

Trailing glory yet; 
Nothing but the past can be 

Ever for regret. 

All her breath is sighing faint 

As from wind-harp drawn 
All her song is tender plaint 

For a world that's gone. 
Ages past our age of strife 

She remembereth ; 
Young as sorrow, young as life, 

Born of every death. 



lOO 



Her in lonely walks you meet, 

Woody hills among, 
Trying echoes strangely sweet 

To a siren-song. 
Soon with utter longing fain 

Down you choose to lie. 
For the rapture or the pain 

Closeth always. Die! 

One highway beyond the east 

She hath often found, 
And with whitest moonlight fleeced. 

Walked unearthly ground. 
A dim land outlying far 

Every track of men, 
Sown with many a mystic star, 

Is the Might Have Been. 

Lonely by the lapsing waves 

Sits she on the shore, 
And her look one country craves, 

Named the Nevermore. 
In the fading purple haze 

Of a sun long set. 
Last of all the goddesses 

Lingereth Regret. 

CHARMS 

I know a word of power to smite 
The armies of embattled wrong; 
Like driven leaves go down the strong, 

Before the matchless name of Right. 

I know a word wherewith to ope 
All prison-doors in any land ; 
A spell that freeth heart and hand — 

It is the blessed name of Hope. 

lOI 



And one that, said above the dust, 
Can wake the beauty sleeping there ; 
'Tis that whereby the earth is fair — 

The lowly, tender name of Trust. 

And one there is can lighten hell, 

It is the dearest name above; 

All power is in the name of Love, 
Her watchmen answer, All is well! 

Who knoweth these shall work his will, 
'Tis he shall bind the spoiler Fate ; 
For him doth sorrow's secret wait. 

And blooms the hidden heart of ill. 

My soul hath given all to buy. 

For these she counteth loss but gain ; 
With these she shall outweary pain. 

And shall outwatch eternity. 

And lightly shall she conquer Death; 

He flees before the immortal race. 

With such a glory in the face. 
And such a rapture on the breath. 

UNDER THE WHEELS 

The harvest grows in plenteous mirth, 

With sunshine crowned, with dews impearled; 
With the best help of heaven and earth, 

God makes the bread to feed the world. 

But oh, the sifting of the wheat ! 

Cast down to dungeons deep and strange, 
Where Titan forces blindly beat, 

Its glory given to waste and change. 



I02 

j 

i 



In God's fair field what graces grow! 

There chafE and grain alike rejoice; 
No summer ever learned to know 

And sign the tokens of His choice. 

When He sent down the Life Divine, 

That all the people might be fed, 
It grew in heavenly dew and shine, 

And last was broken for the bread. 

So all the good must evil prove ; 

So, by its cruel purpose whirled, 
Must Hatred be the drudge of Love, 

And grind the bread to feed the world. 

Harsh ruin seems the work of pain. 
The while it breaks and crushes thus, 

And 5'et we are the precious grain. 

And all God's mills were made for us. 

TRANSFORMATION 

I find no fuller's skill can show 

How heaven doth wash so white the snow, 

What miracle of pure new birth 

Hath glorified these drops of earth. 

I only know the upper air 

Hath wrought this change that moves a prayer; 

A holier secret angels know. 

How souls are made more white than snow. 



Though once in clouds of thunder born, ^i 

Though sunken deep in lands forlorn, j 

Yet may the skies their gift reclaim \ 

And write thereon this white new name. I 

103 



All worthless, changeless, lies the clod, 
But spirit comes and goes of God ; 
Though we have lain so dark, so low. 
The heavens can make us white as snow. 

RICHES 

Mine are the heavens of glory and of wonder, 
Dewfall and dawning on the hills of old ; 

The deep sea's strength, the treasures lying under: 
How poor the wealth that only hands can hold ! 

Mine are the birds and all their happy goings; 

Flowers nestling, sunshine playing in the grass; 
My cup is filled from all the overflowings. 

All angels give me greeting as they pass. 

Mine are all yesterdays and all to-morrows, 
All that the ages in their bosom hide; 

The human's highest hopes and deepest sorrows; 
And need I covet what there is beside ? 

Mine are the tears that comfort all the aching; 

Mine the rejoicings of the world to share; 
The promise of the sleep and of the waking; 
And what is less than these I well may spare. 

THE CALL OF THE PROPHET 

The Voice said. Cry! And he said, "What shall I 
cry? 
Hath it not all been said — 
All the labor of man, and the days of vanity, 

And the mourning over the dead? 
I cannot answer one of the riddles under the sun, 

And my race is all unblest; 
Should I speak, it were to sigh" — but the Voice 
saith, Cry! 
And the prophet cannot rest. 
104 



The Voice said, Hope! Sing unto the world of 
hope! 
And so he sang in the night; 
And the song goes chanting on, though the nations 
ever grope, 
And the years are dim with blight, 
"Behold, might this be even if the Lord would open 
heaven, 
That the world should thus rejoice?" 
And he answered, "What know I ? but the Voice 
saith. Cry! 
Aid the words are of the Voice." 

Thus came the word: Proclaim the year of the 
Lord! 
And so he sang of Peace ; 
Under the yoke he sang, in the shadow of the sword. 
Sang of glory and release. 

The heart may sigh with pain for the people pressed 
and slain, 
The soul may faint and fall: 
The flesh may melt and die — but the Voice saith, 
Cry! 
And the Voice is more than all! 

THE MAPLE TREE 

O that my life could be 

Like to the maple tree, 
Which in the green you would not think the fairest; 

There's many a tree beside 

O'ertops in summer pride 
The one that hath the treasure dearest, rarest. 



105 



Thou strangely favored tree, 

What hand hath woven thee 
This many-colored coat above thy brothers? 

Didst thou in dream behold 

The crimson and the gold, 
And didst thou tell thy vision to the others? 

When leaves were talking low, 

Delighted, flattered so. 
With all the birds admiring, winds a sighing, 

Did not thy secret heart 

Still hold a joy apart. 
The joy that so transfigures thee in dying? 

The forest-kings lay down 

With many sighs, their crown ; 
Not one of all can stand at last before thee ; 

Ripened in sun and rain. 

And wrung by frosty pain. 
All days and nights are ministers of glory. 

October light serene 

Glows round thy matchless sheen. 
My homeward steps regretfully forsake thee; 

And to my soul I say, 

"O wilt thou grow, some day, 
So beautiful that death shall smile to take thee?" 

RENUNCIATION 

I cry not. Haste to help me, O my God! 

Am I not heir of thy eternity? 
Are not thy helpers every hour abroad. 

To work for those who can but wait for thee? 
When thou art come, it will not be too late ; 
Oh, that my faith may praise thee while I wait! 

1 06 



I cry not; but thou hearest tears that fall, — 

Thou seest more need than self to self will own ; 

Yet if thou knovvest — thou that knowest all — 
One heart that dwells more utterly alone. — 

In all the world a sadder soul than I. — 

I pray thee seek that one and pass me by. 

Yea, if I held the cup for which I long, 
How could I drink it on this deathly field. 

Before the piteous faces? Go, be strong 

With all the comfort that my loss can yield, 

comrade ! for thy need is more than mine ; 

1 have the faith, and thou shalt have the sign. 

MEMORIAL WINE 

Who filled for me the golden bowl, 

Ere from the dark I came? 
Ere love or hope had found my soul 

To give it place and name. 

What silent shapes of destiny 

Reaped fields the dead had sown, 

To brew the mingled mystery 
That I must drink alone? 

Wild grapes were on my father's lands, 
Strange growths of balm and bane; 

I hold the vintage in my hands 
Of all their loss and gain. 

Bright bubbles sparkled at the brim — 

O keen and sweet the taste! 
But from the depths arising dim 

My soul drew back in haste. 



107 



darker, darker evermore, 
And bitter grown and strong; 

And ever silence closes o'er 
The feast begun with song. 

1 drink as one who pledges Death, 
And feel my heart grow still ; 

I drink it with a shuddering breath 
But with a patient will. 

Slow, drop by drop, the depths outroll ; 

My trembling lips implore, 
"O break, O break the golden bowl, 

touch the wine no more!" 

I dare not cast the gift away; 

This deadly draught may be 
The unknown grace for which I pray, 

The wine of life to me. 

I know at heart a growing might, 

A new, immortal beat 
A subtle thrill of strange delight. 

An undertaste of sweet. 

As at some high solemnity 

Around me seem to stand 
A great and silent company 

The cup in every hand, — 

I hear the words their Prophet spake, 

1 know the holy sign ; 

All souls that burn, all hearts that ache, 
I pledge you in this wine! 



io8 



AFTERWARD 



Where sorrow lieth buried i 

The greenest herbage springs; J 
There chant the birds unwearied, 

There come no worldly things. 

The deepest wells of pleasure ; 

Are lying close beside; I 

Nowhere so sweet is leisure, ! 

Or sky so high and wide. ' 

I raised no mound above her, ' 

No stone her name to tell ; 
In life I did not love her, 

But death has changed her well. ' 
Her sweetness cometh after, 

Her work is peaceful things; 

The very air grows softer, ; 

The silence broods and sings. I 

All blooms, as nature willeth, 1 

Grow o'er her, white and red ; ; 

Some mystic fragrance filleth \ 

The growth by sorrow fed. j 

And when we pause where flowers ; 

Of sweetest odors wave, ! 

The friend of tenderest hours i 

Knows not it is a grave. I 

"HE PRAYETH BEST WHO LOVETH ] 

BEST" 1 

When for myself alone I prayed ] 

I knew not but I prayed alone; j 

Nor knew if God or man would aid, i 

For heaven was cloud and earth was stone. ' 

109 



But when I named a dearer name 

I felt the viewless barriers move; 
Before the prayer the answer came, 

'Twas love itself entreating love. 

At last with sorrow like the sea 

Flowed through the prayer all human need ; 
And as the whole world prayed with me 

I heard the Spirit intercede. 

LIFE 

That life is brief hath seemed a piteous thing 
Since the first mortal watched it glide away. 
And sad it is that flowers have but one day, 

And sad that birds have little time to sing; 

That joy is fleeting as the bloom of Spring; 
That youth so soon is startled from its play, 
And manhood from its labor, to essay 

The old vain struggle with the shadowy King. 

But sadder far it is that life is long; 

Ay, long enough for bliss to turn to bale, 

For innocence to lose the dread of wrong. 
For hearts to harden, love itself to fail; 

And faith be wearied out (O, sad and strange!) 

Unless Death save us from the deathly change. 

BLIND 

They lead me sometimes into rooms 
Where all mysterious summer blooms; 
I feel how warm is light, how kind, — 
I clasp it close, for I am blind. 

So I grow quick to understand 

The tender voice, the guiding hand; 



IIO 



And by my brightening face I mind 
What smiles are bent upon me blind. 

Often to souls in dark with me 
I speak so sure, they think I see; 
Yet I see not; I only find 
How sweet is light, by being blind. 

OUR SILENT FRIENDS 

O, not to alien skies and far-of¥ spheres 
We render our beloved ! They do not go 
From us in going to God, we surely know. 
WTiat if they make no answer to our tears? 
Is not He silent to us all our years? 
And yet His arms are round us in our woe. 
So they who share with Him the power to bless 
Must share His nearness and His silentness. 
Perhaps they softly say of us, "The dead!" 
Of us who dwell and dream among the tombs, 
Nor ever see how short a way o'er head 
Eternal life enfolds our fleeting glooms; 
Nor ever heed the voice from heaven that saith, 
"They are the dead, who yet believe in death." 

REFUGES 

The soul hath many mansions here, 
A fitting house for every weather; 

No day so dark in all the year, 

But Hope and she may dwell together. 

A summer tent whose door is wide, 

A lightsome dwelling, stands the Present, 

WTien earth is bright on every side. 

And winds are warm and skies are pleasant. 



Ill 



But when the east wind chilly blows, 
And through the tent the rain is drifted, 

Then to the Future forth she goes. 
Her radiant palace high uplifted, — 

With lofty roof and spaces free, 

With happy lights and shadows tender. 

And looking o'er the eternal sea. 
Far flashing in a mystic splendor. 

But when the cloud hangs dark before 
The palace, and the sea is moaning. 

She turns to seek a lowlier door, 

A place of old her presence owning. 

There in her fortress of the Past, 

Grim-walled and ivy-grown, she wanders; 
Unshaken by the wintry blast. 

Among the pictured halls she ponders. 

Counting her treasurers, reading signs, 
Outshining clear, of Love's own hiding. 

She knows not how the storm declines. 
In his pavilion safe abiding. 

THE WEE, SMALL HOUR 

Now comes Hope to take the watch; 

O how long before the sun. 
The ear of midnight bends to catch 

That silver "One!" 
Now turns the world in slumbers deep 

To lighter sleep. 



112 



Day begins in deepest night; 

We own her when we do not see; 
O life eternal; life of light! 

'Tis thus with thee, 
The higher hours that see the sun, 

Can say no more, but o'er and o'er 
That silver "One!" 

A DOUBTER'S FAITH 

O ship of Christ! storm tossed upon the sea, 
Thou shalt not sink, for One is nigh to save; 

Thou shalt not sink — but neither yet shall he 
Who goes to meet Him, walking on the wave. 

"Stay, stay with us," they cried, "or thou art lost!" 
To them the fiery heart no answer gave; 

"If it be thou," he cried, the deep across, 

"Bid me to come to Thee, walking on the wave. ' 

"Come!" 'Tis the only voice the tempest heeds: 
O'er the dark waters yawning like a grave, 

The frail ship rocks, the masts are bent like reeds, 
And faith is all as safe upon the wave. 

"Come!" Thou shalt grasp the hand He reaches 
out; 

O fainting heart! O loyal soul and brave! 
Though whelmed almost in stormy seas of doubt, 

Still it is faith that walks upon the wave. 

COMFORTED 

When the many harps are praising. 
And the glorified are gazing 

On the Face they longed to see. 
If I may among them gather, 
I will only say "My Father, 

Hast Thou blessed me — even me?" 
113 



Not to Him my eyes upraising j 

Whom the multitude are praising, ,i 

Only kneeling at His feet; ■; 

There my tears in silence pouring, ] 

All remembering and adoring, — j 

O, my rest will be so sweet! j 

I 

I have grown too tired for singing, | 

All too faint for joy's upspringing ; \ 

Peace I pray for, day by day; 

O to feel the light around me, j 
O to know that Love has found me, 

Love that will not pass away. i 

He will know the whole sad story, ; 

He will hide me from the glory, j 

Till the joy runs clear of pain; ^ 

In His way — how slowly, sweetly, — | 

He will dry the tears completely, , 

And they will not come again. 

LIFE 

When she, the mother-mystery of old days, j 

Isis, Demeter, famed by many a name, j 

To seek her ravished love, a wanderer came, j 

Teaching the winds her lone lamenting lays, | 

And loading echo with the loved one's praise, j 

'Tis told how, to her hidden heart of flame ! 

She pressed a mortal, yet a princely child, | 

And with a nurse's cares her grief beguiled. | 

O Life, of whom all parables are told ! ] 
Thou art the Goddess-Pilgrim, who has taught 
All things to mourn with thee thy lost desire. 

Man is the nursling whom thine arms enfold. 

Whom secretly thy God-like spells have wrought 'j 

To make immortal with a bath of fire ! | 
114 



FAMILIARITY 

They who look long in Death's calm face 
Grow also calm. Our records say 

How heroes oft have kept their place 
At danger's post, from day to day, 

Till all his sternness smiled with grace. 

One sight of Life, sudden and plain, 
Would daunt them rather, I am sure! 

This face so marred with strife and strain 
How learns the weakest to endure? — 

By looking, looking yet again. 

THE LAST KISS 

My lips are trembling, burning — 
That soon will be so cold ! — 

Fain in one word to utter 
What life has left untold. 

Love finds a way, my darling! 

Stoop now, and take the whole ; 
Once at its prison portal 

My soul shall greet thy soul. 

The mute, the untranslated 

The meanings all divine, 
That strove in every message 

At last have found their sign. 

They fill and flood the silence 

Through clasping hands they thrill, 

The thoughts that always tremble 
Grow strong, and sure, and still. 



"5 



Life's anguish and its yearning 
Death's mingled hope and dread 

These fill our cup of parting 
With sacramental red. 

'Tis love's supremest triumph 
Wrung from its worst defeat, 

Its last and sorest travail 

That makes this moment sweet. 

Kiss me for tenderest pity, 
Kiss me for saddest pain, 

For griefs that ne'er were spoken 
And ne'er may speak again. 

For mysteries that enfold us, 
For powers that overlean. 

For the long dim to-morrow 
Whose curtain falls between. 

For deep immortal yearnings 
That bind us heart to heart; 

For mortal doom relentless 
That strikes our hands apart. 

For these we seal our witness 
That human hearts are true 

O darling. Death is waiting 
To kiss me after you. 

So ere his trancing touches 
Shall lay me down to sleep, 

O Love, the everlasting 

Take thou my soul to keep! 



ii6 



THE WATCH OF ONE HOUR 

I saw him as he turned away ; 

His eyes cried to me Watch and pray! 

I felt the darkness past me roll, 

Deep-burdened on that lonely soul. 

Some longing, pitying looks I cast 

Into the shadows where he passed ; 

Then o'er my sense strange numbness crept, 

My eyes were heavy, and I slept. 

He came and touched me where I lay, 
His pale lips sighing, Wake and pray! 
In the dim lurid light his face 
With unknown anguish filled the place. 
As half in dreams, I heard the call, 
I heard my answer faintly fall ; 
He turned the lonely watch to keep. 
He came and found me still asleep. 

I woke to learn, at bitter cost. 

The need he owned, the grace I lost; 

Alone he wrestled, not in vain, — 

Some angel helped him in his pain. 

Next day he bore his cross; I saw 

That march, far off, with grief and awe ; 

Alone he went to death, but I — 

It broke my heart to see him die. 

I, when he had no more to crave. 
Fell weeping, praying, at his grave; 
When the dread spell had lost its power. 
Watched sleepless, thinking of that hour; 
Shamed by the trembling flesh that failed, — 
O that the spirit had prevailed! 
How Heaven had kept the record bright 
If one had watched with him that night! 

117 



O Son of Man ! but once have I 
Left thee alone to strive and die? 
How often hath the strife been near 
Of mortal pain, of deathly fear; 
And now, in every soul that cried 
Out of the darkness at my side, 
Thy sad, reproachful face I see. 
And hear, "Ye did it not to me." 

At last I wake, at last I pray; 
My heart burns in me night and day, 
Each hour I hear the call to keep 
The watch, to weep with all that weep, 
O waken, brothers! Shall his own 
Leave Him to bear the world alone? 
One cup He blest; one grief divine 
Renews to love the Kingdom's sign. 

A PERFECT DAY 

The earth is wrapped in a dream of bliss. 

In a rest complete; 
And the touch of the air is like a kiss. 

Comforting-sweet. 

And the tiny creatures are singing low, 

For a lullaby; 
And the watching silence doth stir and glow 

As the wind creeps by. 

And there is the sun's own mantle flung 

On the chestnut-tops; 
And yonder are tangled rainbows, hung 

With shimmering drops. 

And over the things about to die, 

Is a gentler law; 
A hush of peace, and a tenderer sky 

Than the summer saw. 
Ii8 



Open the windows wide to-day, 

Where a soul may dwell, — 
In the heart of a palace grand and gay 

Or a prison cell. 

O look, ye happy, till pleasure grows 

To a nobler thing ; 
Till you bring your gold as the amber flows, 

For an offering. 

And look, ye weary, till grief and pain 

Transfigured shine; 
Rejoice for the crimson glory's gain. 

The holiest sign. 

O mourn ye never that hope is lost. 

That rest delays; 
They are after summer and after frost. 

These sweetest days. 

Often and often will skies be gray 



But the Lord hath made us a perfect day — 
Let us be glad! 

OCTOBER 

The solemn fires are lit again 

Upon the mountain's altar-places; 
They rise above the kneeling plain. 

And front us with unchanged faces. 
The holy time of all the year 

In silent worship there is flowing; 
The autumn festival is near. 

The bright October days are going. 



119 



And hearts be sad; j 



Their tokens shine along the steep 

Where every breeze is shaken splendor, 
And where the sunshine lies asleep 

On leaves with valley-shadows tender, 
Into October's vintage cup 

The last and richest wine is flowing; 
And while the draught is brimming up 

The bright autumnal days are going. 

And but that every year doth hold 

Its summers by a winter parted, 
And every fiery autumn fold 

A death beneath it, frosty-hearted. 
Too perfect were these crowning days — 

So rich the ebbing life is flowing: 
Each dying in a sunset blaze, 

The bright October days are going. 

And in his royal robe and crown 

The year awaits the spoiler hasting; 
And scarce will lay his glory down 

Before the foe whose touch is blasting. 
Too few the golden days, alas! 

So much with them is outward flowing; 
They take the sunshine as they pass — 

These bright October days, in going. 

THE SOUL'S THANKSGIVING 

There is no joy in all the earth. 

There is no bird to sing; 
Scarce through the chill and silent air 

Some brown leaves fluttering; 
Sad nature in the dust of death 

Hath cast her hope away; 
A nobler joy, a braver faith 

Must glorify to-day. 

120 



What music is in singing days 

O Soul, till thou rejoice? 
God's dumb creation silently 

Is waiting for thy voice, 
For when this solemn hush is laid 

On all the lesser things, 
Oh, then, the sweetest bird He made 

Serenely soars and sings. 

What shall we render? Thanks alone 

For treasures of the dust? 
For beauty blighted in the frost? 

For wealth that turns to rust? 
The heavens listen deeper — Sing, 

O heart, though faint and sad. 
The gift thy poverty may bring 

Shall make thy Father glad. 

His gifts shall fall where penitence 

Lays down its burdened years ; 
And grief that cannot smile as yet 

May consecrate its tears. 
He listens deep as deepest woe 

To hear the song begin 
Whose grand rejoicing's overflow 

Shall ring this kingdom in. 

O Life! that of Thy dearest gifts 

Art still the dearer part; 
It is the sun and seal of bliss 

To see Thee as Thou art. 
And we who see not, yet can sing 

Half knowing we are blest. 
In every Winter Thou art Spring, 

In every want a rest. 



121 



Hark through the age's ebb and flow 

What rhythmic forces beat! 
Wave after wave of growing light 

Upbears us to His feet. 
And when the shining host from far 

With many songs appear, 
The praises of the saddest star 

Shall hush them all to hear. 

SELF-RECOMPENSED 

Love me not best, O tender heart and true! 

I am not good or great enough to be 

God's ultimate and perfect gift to thee; 

Yet thine I am, thus sealed through and through, 

And I will love thee in a way half new 

To this poor world, where love is seldom free ; 

Not with a love which th9u must share with me, 

But as the ministering angels do. 

Love me not best, for I am not thy mate, 

Yet I am all as rich with lesser gain; 

Thou canst not give me, dear, a gift so small 

But that my glory in it shall be great. 

Oh, never be it said that love was vain! 

What if it hath not, when itself is all! 

THE LITTLE HEART'S EASE 

All the red roses are faint with yearning. 

Dying of splendor, ere morn grows late,— 
All the white lilies are pale with pining. 

In the sacred gloom of their pure estate. 
These have one month in the height of summer, 

And all too fair in their time are these; 
Early and late is a modest comer; 

Earth's own child is the little heart's ease. 



122 



The red for lovers when hearts are glowing, — 

Pressed to their bosoms the flame is balm; 
The white for angels with garlands strewing 

Whiter faces in saintly calm. 
For us who dwell in the quiet closes, 

Our tears and laughter have naught like these; 
Few are the hours of lilies and roses. 

Many the daj^s of the little heart's ease. 

Bring us the roses when fate's one glory 

A moment touches and makes us strong; 
Leave us the lilies when man's poor story 

Flows out of words in the grand new song. 
But not with rapture and not with anguish 

Can life be nourished in days like these, — 
For hands that labor and hearts that languish, 

Nothing so dear as the little heart's ease. 

SUMMER IN WINTER 

I look from my window against the west. 

And southward my heart doth fly, 
For I see in the poplar an empty nest 
Where the singer dwelt on high. 
The summer bird with a golden breast 

That left a song in the sky; 
Now the poor earth turns white with cold, 

And the winds are making moan. 
But under my eyelids the air is gold, 

And I tread on fields unmown ; 
And whelmed often, but never drowned, 

The bird song rises sweet. 
As if in the rudest body of sound 

A spirit of music beat. 



123 



So meant the Power that made the bird, I 

When He sent that voice abroad j 

(And from age to age His lightest word ] 

Returneth not to the void) 1 

To be a token wherever heard, I 

Of a great hope undestroyed. j 
Forever the living Word is near, 

It is quickening silently ; , 
And the immanent summer is blooming here, 

If you shut your eyes to see. 
For not with flower, and not with fruit, 

The life of the year outran; j 

It lies in the sap, and it lies in the root, j 

And it lies in the heart of man. j 

\ 

When goeth behind the farthest hill : 

The sun of a happy day. 

The moon of memory shineth still | 

With the light he gives away, i 
And joy comes back with a softer thrill 

In the smile of yesterday. .j 

And Faith with calm face witnesseth ; 

(Sitting up where skies grow wide) ;| 

To souls in the very shadow of death, • 

There is light on the other side. 

Not a love nor a hope died, long ago, | 

But it cast its mortal sign, " 
And the soul that followeth up shall know 

A ministry more divine. j 

HOW THE SONG COMES j 

A song of summer in winter time! * 

For the heart can make its season, ! 

And the spirit that works in rhythm and rhyme , 

Is a spirit of sweet unreason. j 

124 



It runs like the waters underground, 
Life's hard crust throbbing under ; 

It leaps to light with a silver sound, 
Still a fresh delight and wonder. 

How is it fed in the darkened ways? 

Whence is its sudden showing? 
Some stifled music of all the days 

Has gathered to overflowing. 

A LIGHT BEARER 

Thou dear sad moon! thou poor forsaken star! 

That turnest patiently so marred a face 
To take through grief a glory from afar. 

And fill the midnight with mysterious grace. 

Ah, who could bear to read thy story near? 

Thou hast no comfort even of common things ; 
Blasted and rent, and pale with deathly fear. 

Yet going on, in ceaseless journeyings. 

Yet O how sacred thou hast made our night ! 

Not knowing, on thy lonely path and high, 
How God hath clothed thee with serenest light, 

Who goest smiling, because He knows why! 

A HIDDEN LIFE 

Though it be a lonely altar, let its flame be pure 
and high — 

God shall hear the silence chanting anthems of hu- 
manity. 

Though it be a forest-singer, it may sing so loud 

and clear, 
All the shining skies shall echo, and the earth be 

hushed to hear. 

125 



Though it be a nameless fountain, it may leap the 

light to meet, 
Blooms shall wreathe it, wild things love it, weary 

wanderers find it sweet. 

Thou that madest worlds and heavens, all to praise 

Thee by and by. 
Unto whom the seraph singeth, and the groaning 

earth doth cry, — 

Dost Thou hear a voice of blessing, thro' the dis- 
cord and the wrong. 

Rising from a darkened corner, swelling the eternal 
song? 

Dost Thou count the low beginnings of a sweet and 

solemn hymn 
That from saddest depths arising, shall outsoar the 

seraphim ? 

Here and there begins the chorus, many voices, far 

apart ; 
In the upper air they answer, love to longing, heart 

to heart. 

What they speak in light together, Thou hast taught 

them each alone; 
In the hidings of Thy power, count me also with 

Thine own. 

With the good outwearing evil, with the right re- 
deeming wrong, 

Bind my life, Thou mighty Victor! out of weak- 
ness make it strong. 



126 



OtJTSlD^ 

Within, the hearth is warm and light, 
Yet none of all the group about 

Knows what a glory strikes the night 

Where one poor wanderer stands without. 

To them, their right of earth has come; 

One only — O, how sad her eyes! 
Outside of love, and hope, and home, 

Looks in, beholding Paradise. 

For all that cold and famine say, 
Scarce can the happy souls believe 

How sweet the bread of every day, 
How glad the fires of every eve. 

The poor know well what wealth can do, — 
The rich their happiest chances miss; 

We sit too close to grasp the view. 
Or stand too far to feel the bliss. 

Ah life, what songs are sung outside. 
For alms of voiceless souls within ; 

What halo crowns the bliss denied. 

What glory flies from hands that win ! 

For eyes see more than taste and touch — 
Poor senses — to the soul can prove; 

The longing heart divines too much, 
Fate mocks her still at one remove. 



127 



DEFEAT 

When some that followed Truth shall stand 

beside her in the Fatherland, 
When they that win shall claim the meed 

of all their faith in word and deed, 
What shall the bitter strife avail of those 

that only strove to fail? 

When one shall clasp her like a bride, a 

crowned victor at her side. 
And one that saw her all too fair, and 

made her glory his despair. 
May still behold her like a star, forever 

calm, and bright, and far! 

They come, a sad and silent host, from 
valleys where her trail was lost, 

From many a dark and deadly field, from 
many an ambush late revealed. 

From many a watch in fatal hour of 
darkness and the evil power. 

They dreamed of her in alien lands, they 
worshiped her with chained hands, 

On dungeon-walls they carved her name, her 
glory triumphed in the shame 

That kept upon their dying breath one 
word of anguish worse than death. 

Their quenchless hell of vain desire was 

kindled with celestial fire. 
The joy of heaven becomes their pain, the 

face of her they loved in vain. 
Yet must forever love, and choose — alas! 

as they can love who lose! 



128 



The harpers tell the victor's tale, but who 
shall speak for those that fail? 

Once let the unutterable cry come up 
and hush the startled sky, 

And answer, all ye souls in bliss, if yours 
was sorrow like to this! 

O happy victors, is it well that your is 

heaven and theirs is hell? 
Who knows ? the end may tarry long, and 

one is weak, and one is strong. 
And they that halt are left behind, and 

two shall seek, and one shall find. 

O God, shall these forever fail, shall not 

their hopeless faith avail. 
Their love be counted faith at length, their 

prayers prevail instead of strength. 
To lift them with the justified, the 

martyr by the hero's side? 

Thou seest not with mortal eyes, thou 

Keeper of the destinies! 
O Truth, what angel knows the sign of those 

who shall at last be thine? 
Who shall behold thee face to face, 

and win thy silent secret place? 

The crowned victor yet may fail, 

and only love at last avail. 
Beyond the triumph and the tears ; but ah, 

the weary, woful years, 
The heartsick hope, the matchless pain, of 

those who dreamed they loved in vain ! 



129 



A NEW YEAR'S EVE 

One last long look upon thy face, 

My year of grace! 
O sweet and strange! what vision lies 
Half hidden under curtained eyes? 

piteous seeker, long denied. 
Art thou already satisfied? 

Thy smile is filling all the place. 
My year of grace! 

Instead of thorns, upon thy brow 

White roses now, — 
And the poor pilgrim robe she wore 
Grows white and shining, more and more; 
And folded hands upon the breast — 
Poor hands that never were at rest — 
Hold lilies pure as peace, and bright 

With mystic light. 

1 kneel beside the still sweet face. 

My year of grace! 

never with such tender tears 

1 said good bye to other years. 

She brought me bitterness and balm, 
And agony whose heart was calm ; 
She led me through the dark, to see 
Thy greater light, eternity! 
And in the fulness of her rest 
I too am blest. 

Once more before I turn away, 

I kneel and pray, 
God give me in the years to be, 
No less than He has sent by thee. 
No meaner joy than that rich wine 
Which pain hath pressed for feasts divine; 
130 



No lower rest than that which lies j 

In labor, search and sacrifice; 
No lesser triumph than the faith 
Of life in death. 

LAST DAYS : 

i 

Change ! Change ! i 
Another leaf is turned; 
And back into the old and strange 

Sinks the half-learned. | 

Out of the quiet ways : 

Into the world's broad track , ; 

We go forth in the summer days i 

And never wander back. I 

Not death: — 

We do not call it so; i 

Yet scarcely more with dying breath ^ 

Could we forego. j 

We cross an unseen line, | 

And lo, another zone ; | 

We learn to make a stranger clime i 

Familiar as our own. 1 

Not one, I 

But many lives we hold ; 

Our Hail to every work begun I 

Is Farewell, to the old. j 

At every bound we say j 

"When will the days be past?" ' 

But start with vain regret, some day, 1 

In presence of the last. 



131 



The last! 
Last looks are tenderest; 
The sunset light is on the past, 

The last wine is the best, 
O days most sad and sweet. 

The old life's fairest wreath ! 
No record ever is complete 

Without that last word, Death ! 

LET US FOLLOW TRUTH 

Have we not seen some glimpses of her face. 
Or felt her presence make a holy place, 
Or touched her floating garment in the crowd. 
Or heard great words we dare not breathe aloud? 
O soul, make haste to own the call divine; 
Follow, for thou art hers and she is thine, 
Love her, and love shall be immortal youth, 
Forsake the world, and come and follow Truth. 

Fear not to set thy feet where she hath trod, 
For she that came from God must lead to God. 
Search every line she wrote, on sand or stone, 
Or souls of men, in those dim ages gone. 
Listen to-day; keep sacred every word 
That thrills thee when thy deepest heart is stirred : 
Follow with steadfast hope, and thou shalt know 
Many have failed, — but let us rise and go! 

She is a spirit ; whom she maketh free 
No chain can bind, for him no ill can be. 
Whoso will clasp and hold the earthly shape. 
Perforce shall let the quickening soul escape. 
But come with empty hands, nor look behind ; 
It is thy life to follow, and to find 
Is life eternal. O to see, to know! 
The road is rough and long, but let us go! 

132 



Her way is in the sea, and through the night, 
The waters shall not drown, the dark is light. 
Thou shalt not rest with her on mortal ground. 
But climb and climb till highest heaven is found 
At last, beyond the twilight and the dawn. 
Deep in the hidden glory, far withdrawn. 
Her rest remaineth. 

O to feel, to know ! 
It is for life, for death, — but let us go. 

THE UNKNOWN GOD 

Of old the gods were feasted 

On music, mirth and wine ; 
But men that drank their nectar 

Did not grow divine. 
The ancient gods have perished, 

Their pleasures drew them down ; 
And One that willed to suffer 

Is putting on the crown. 

Behold the Burden-Bearer! 

O, lightly up by Him 
The shining stars are holden. 

The chanting seraphim. 
But heavy is the travail 

Of worlds He brings to birth; 
The long and anguished wailing 

Of creatures like the earth. 

What cordial doth inspire thee, 

O Thou that faintest not? 
A drop thereof can sweeten 

One bitter human lot. 
Love, perfect and immortal, 

Doth make Thee glad to bear; 
Thy joy it is to suffer. 

While pain is anywhere. 
133 



I see Thee through the ages, 

And after time is o'er; 
Thou art forever giving, 

And bearing evermore. 
Into thy joy we enter 

With trembling and w^ith tears; 
To serve with growing gladness 

Through everlasting years. 

THE DIFFERENCE 

To find love round your ways, 

A shield in evil days; 

A robe that keeps you warm, 
As ermine, from the storm ; 

To wear it as a jewel-flame, 
A cross of honor, with a royal name ; 

To sit a queen, unmoved 
By want or grief — this is to be beloved. 

To feel love guide your ways. 

The strength of lonely days, 

A light across the storm, 
A hope that keeps you warm; 

To bear a cross of pain and shame, 
Crowned with the glory of a holy name; 

To know all joys above 
The grace of sorrow; this it is to love. 

AN ECHO 

Hold up the shell and listen ! Yes he hears — 
The far faint murmur of an ocean swell, 
"Nay, 'tis his own heart beating in his ears." 
What matter? Still the echo of the shell 

Marks to and fro. 

The earth life's flow. 
134 



Even such a tiny curved and fluted thing 
I found — a song uptost by waves of time, 
And held it close, and loved its murmuring, 
And heard the world-sea in my own heart's chime 

Repeating low 

A world-old woe. 

Prophet or poet, they are still the same 

All men are blind, till comes the one man seeing, 

Bidding the desert blossom in God's name 

And the dead quicken, and the dumb proclaim 

The power and gladness of immortal being, 

A MONUMENT 

I learned this lesson on a stone, 

Older than Egypt's tombs to me ; 
It stood up in the world alone. 
It said, "There is but One, but One." 
And then my eyes grew dim to see. 

I had a temple and a shrine, 

All hidden, fair for me alone; 
I came with gifts, I came with wine, 
My best to serve this love of mine, — 
And there was nothing but a stone. 

God, great God, thou still Unknown ! 
I see these altars every way; 

1 hear the call from stone to stone, 
"There is but One, there is but One; 

Death is the prophet, come and pray!" 



135 



NO ANSWER 

All my life long, O God, all my life long 

I cry and Thou art silent! Night and day 

What breath, what thought have I that does not 

pray? 
Behold, I cry with yearning sore and strong, — 
No answer! And behold, I cry of wrong. 
And yet no answer! Is there naught to say? 
What wilt Thou? I have wept out all my tears, 
And watched out all the strength of all my years, 
And now my heart's blood crieth from the ground. 
And will it ever be that I shall rest, 
Smiling with folded hands upon my breast. 
While not a heartbeat breaks the hush profound- - 
Still, still, with not a sigh for all the past — 
Because the Silent One hath spoken at last! 

JOINT HEIRS WITH CHRIST 

To sit with thee upon thy throne? 

Nay Lord, that were not meet; 
My hopes from highest wanderings 

Drop silent at thy feet. 

There surely is the dearest place 

From thence I cannot fall ; 
And that is high above myself 

Above the world and all. 

He turns to me, he smiles to me — 

It is the face I know ; 
The earth and heaven float away, 

There is no high nor low. 

He is the same, the very same 

My King without a crown ; 
I knelt to worship him because 

He laid his glory down. 
136 



What are the heights to him and me, 
Whom no abyss could part? 

Still they are by his side who know 
The secret of his heart. 

OUTSIDE THE GATE 

I cannot strive, I will not cry; 
I sit and watch the throng go by, — 
They press, their hands with favors full, 
Into the Temple Beautiful. 
And all alone I sit, where fate 
Ordained my place, outside the gate. 

not for pity, not for alms, 

1 stretch sometimes these eager palms; 
I almost think the form I know 
Whose touch could bid me rise and go; 
But all in vain, — the hour grows late, 
And still I watch outside the gate. 

What end of waiting shall there be? 
Will there be room in heaven for me? 
Will one who cometh late, but sure. 
Bring for this life-long grief a cure? 
Or must I there forever wait. 
As always here, outside the gate? 

I seem to hear them call the blest; 
My name is not among the rest ; 
I see the Bridegroom meet the Bride, — 
I wait, and look, and long, outside ; 
Still bound, with freedom all about; 
All heaven within, and I without! 

Yet, Lord, not comfortless I wait; 
They keep not Thee within the gate! 
137 



SERVANT OR FRIEND 

Ah, Duty, Duty, let us now be friends! 

Walk with me, look on me with kinder eyes. 
And speak no more in words so loftywise. 

But on me still her awful brow she bends; 

And sternly sweet are her low-voiced commands, 
And cold the iron crosses in her hands. 

I see the happy souls that win her love ; 

Their faces shine, their prayers turn bridal vows. 
The thorns begin to blossom on their brows. 

I know she is so dear to those above; 

I know all saints have walked with her, so high 
That God at last could take them from the sky. 

But what am I, least prophet in her name, 
Not worthy her shoe's latchet to unbind, 
That I should hope her choicest grace to find ? 

Rough-shod for service, at the last I came; 
"Lo, send me!" kneeling, eager like a child. 
And through dropt eyelids feeling how she smiled. 

But what her friendship is, was never told ; 

How the cross lightens, taken from her hands, 
How the feet quicken, doing her commands. 

God's wealth is hers; she pays a hundred-fold; 
But her companion first must be her thrall, 
She gives thee nothing, till thou giv'st her all. 



138 



UNANSWERED 

The earth is weary with cries, 
The heavens are heavy with sighs; 
So lingers the making of man, 
Since the travail of time began. 
And the pitying angels go 
On their errands to and fro. 
With hearts that tremble and long, 
With lips that are stilled from song, 
And eyes that wonder and wait; 
For the judgment tarrieth late; 
And there grows in the Presence-place 
A mist that veileth the Face, 
Uprising, the prayers and tears 
Of all the sorrowful years; 
The tears God cannot forget. 
And the prayers unanswered yet. 

The powers of night are strong. 
The watch of the world is long. 
Howe'er we struggle and weep, 
In a moment we fall asleep ; 
Howe'er we labor and strain. 
This is the most we gain ; 
Like the men of the vanished years 
To wet the earth with our tears. 
And burden it more with graves. 
For all that the young heart craves. 
To stake its treasure of trust 
And win a handful of dust. 

Alas! for the bravest fail. 
Our living can naught avail, 
Our loving is thrown away, — 
What can we do but pray? 
Pray! for a wondrous grace 

139 



Falls on the lifted face; 

And the prophet standing pale 

Where the light burns thro' the veil, 

Hears in his dream sublime 

How like all heaven in chime, 

Through the waiting worlds shall nm 

The voice of the Silent One : 

"O Truth that has wearied wrong, 

O love that has waited long, 

Enter my joy!" 

Behold, 
Through the glories manifold, 
To the hidden holy place 
They have passed, — they see His face. 
Answered, the prayers and tears 
Of all the sorrowful years ; 
And the Maker is understood, 
(And the work of evil is good.) 
O soul, what song shall raise 
Thy sacred secret praise 
For the tears that fall to-day. 
For the silence when we pray! 

ALL AND IN ALL 

O God, my God, how great Thou art, 

Who fill'st creation's every part, 

And this poor worthless world, my heart! 

This half-made world of storms and fires, 

Infinite sorrows and desires. 

Great moaning seas whereon Thy breath 

Already quickens life from death. 

How strong the unseen hand that draws 
This wildered world to move and pause 
Obedient to the heavenly laws. 
With subtlest bands of love and fear, 

140 



He stayed her, not too far or near; 
And bids her tread the line of light 
Between eternal day and night. 

When toward the dark she turns her face, 
And fain would rest in night's embrace. 
He draws her from His central place. 
And she must turn and haste to meet 
His smile, and gladden at His feet; 
But in the light she may not stay. 
The hand that beckons, leads away. 

Far from Thy Throne, but not from Thee 
Through darkening spheres Thou leadest me. 
Who feel the more the less I see. 
Through lands yet unredeemed to life. 
Through chaos waked to woful strife, 
I walk in sense of things divine. 
And hear Thee saying, "All is mine!" 

What can I render or refuse ? 
This life I had no power to choose 
What power have I to save or lose? 
To heaven itself I may not haste 
From wanderings with Thee in the waste; 
Nor sink so deep in my despair — 
The only hell — but Thou art there! 

Thou boldest not the heights alone, 

The deepest depth is all Thine own. 

And every secret place Thy throne. 

No foe of Thine can e'er control 

The sacred citadel of soul; 

And if I fear, yet cannot fly. 

And cannot fail — Thou knowest why! 



141 



VIA DOLOROSA 

Is this the road? 

It is the road, my friend; 
See, it winds up and up, until the end 
Is lost in heaven : He who sent the call 
Awaits thee on the highest steep of all. 

The clouds hang dark below the mountain's crest. 
And O, the end is far! 

But there is rest 
On every height ; and it is gain to know 
Some peril past, with every glance below. 

I cannot see ; the path has left the height, 

It winds and wanders farther from the light, 

I go alone, afraid. 

Through night to day! 
Know by these signs, it is the royal way. 

An awful sign ! the path is trailed wi<-h led ; 
Beneath my feet my shuddering heart I tread ; 
My blood drops on the thorns. 
As theirs, who sowed 
These strange immortal flowers along the road. 

But at the last — I dare not look — I know 
There stands the cross where I must die. 

Even so 
The highest paths are ended ; prove the rest ; 
Cleave through earth's worst — it turns to heaven's 
best! 



142 



A CASTAWAY 

I saw a soul that wandered in the night 

Outside a gate of gold ; 
It seemed her eyes had waited for the light 

Through centuries untold. 

She turned to me a face that seemed to plead 

With terrors strange and vast; 
"Tell me" she said, "if this be earth indeed, 

Is not death almost past? 

Or has the day of judgment come and gone, 

And left me waiting here? 
Is that the city of the blest, withdrawn 

So far, and still so near? 

It must be; I have sinned — what is the sin 

They pardon nevermore? 
I saw the Bridegroom, and the Bride go in. 

And they have shut the door. 

Are they not there, the friends I counted mine 

Beyond reproach or doubt? 
Their voices sound afar, their garments shine 

Within — and I without. 

Truly I had my portion in their pain, 

I entered not their bliss; 
And God, as he would prove my worship vain 

Hath shut me out of his. 

Behind, the empty world rings hollowly. 

Before, the walls are dumb; 
One mocking voice alone cries bitterly. 

The end, the end, is come! 



143 



Here lieth low the strength that would have braved 

The flood, and fiery dole! , 

Now let them save thee, whom thou wouldst have i 

saved i 

At cost of thine own soul ! i 

Alas! they gave me naught whereby to live, ] 

No, not the crumbs that fall ; j 

Yet it was God who taught me to forgive ' 
And love in spite of all. 

How have I missed Him? Could I climb above ] 

To meet him face to face? 
I have loved Love, and not the gifts of Love, 

Yet I have lost his grace. i 

Still to his door my heart returns again J 

And lingers praying yet; 1 

I am forgotten both of God and men, \ 

Yet I cannot forget." i 

i 

Alone! alone! Her tears fell silently, 1 

And through my tears I cried, i. 
"Poor soul, I marvel that thou dost not see 

fVho waits with thee outside." 

i 

But she made answer, "Ever in my dreams | 

I see One crowned with thorn, | 

Alone upon a height, his shadow seems i 

To make the world forlorn. 

I 

I hear the mockers cry — 'His life is loss i 

Himself he cannot save' — 

Then lo! I stand by a deserted cross, '. 

Beside an empty grave, i 



144 



I see no more; they tell me he prevailed, 

He reigns in bliss complete; 
I know the thorns, the cross, and if he failed 

I know his death was sweet. 

But if to-day he liveth — who was dead 

Is he within the gate? 
I know not how my heart is comforted, 

I know not why I wait." 

FROM ABOVE 

This is the sweetest thought in pleasure — 

That it is given ; 
With love's delight they fill my measure, 

Both earth and heaven. 

This is a sweeter thought in sorrow — 

That it is given; 
No joy therein from earth I borrow, 

'Tis all of heaven. 

THE GIFT OF LOVE 

Love, I have naught to give, 
But the life whereby I live. 

That which I bought with pain. 
Travail of heart and brain. 
Midnight watching, and tears. 
Enough for a thousand years, — 
Lo! the eternal gain 
I have brought and laid it down 
For thy soul to walk upon. 



145 



Of the sense of this world's wrong, 
Which makes life sad and strong; 
And the terrible delight 
Of our nature's depth and height; 
And the anguished fight of faith 
Ever face to face with death, — 

I have borne a double part; 
Let it ransom thee, dear heart ! 
Let the fruit of grief be thine. 
Let the grief alone be mine. 

Alas! it is all in vain; 
Thou also must bear the pain ; 
For itself each soul must prove 
All the cost of life and love, — 
And what have I for my loss 
But a vision all too wise 
In the saddest mysteries! 

What had Christ for His cross? 

For the world still carries its own, 

Treading the dolorous way 

On to a goal unknown. 

And sin still beareth woe. 

And wide is the overflow; 

And the hearts that love and pray 

Are heavy with fruitless strife, — 

And the seed of human life 

Is cast in the grave to grow. 

What was the crown He won ? 
This — to be Love's high-priest, 
Sorrow's interpreter. 
Heaven's chief messenger. 
Never his prayer hath ceased, 
Never his hope shall fail, 
Till the sign he left prevail, 
And the good he wished is done. 
146 



Love in the anguish hour, 
In the time of evil power, 
Know by the self-same sign 
The midnight watch is mine. 

REST 

What power can give the thing I miss? 
Not even Love knows what it is; 
Not love, that makes all bitter sweet. 
Knows how to make itself complete; 
The cup is never full and still 
The bright drops shake it as they fill; 
Some wider life the boon may give. 
But here we cannot rest and live. 

'Tis Heaven itself beguiles our souls, — 
Far ofi its waymarks shine like goals. 
'Twas from our angels first we heard — 
Not from the sirens — that strange word 
That fills the heart with longing sighs, 
Draws quick sun-showers from waiting eyes. 
All else He gives us, but the best 
Remains with God ; his heaven is Rest. 

IN THE NIGHT 

"When I awake" — out of the chill and shiver 

Of this dark earthly hour before the da\\n. 
And light, and life, and gladness all a-quiver 

Enfold me, and the phantom-world is gone; 
Awake — no more as from bewildered dreaming 

I start with straining eyes at dead of night 
And shudder backward from the awful seeming. 

And dream a sadder dream for every sight ; — 
Ah yes, dear friend! it will be sweet to see; 
Though I have proof of heaven, holding thee! 
147 



But O Beloved ! if I should not find thee, 

And in thine eyes behold the morning break, — 

If this sad life's one joy be left behind me. 
With all its sorrows, — let me not awake. 

THE BETTER PART 

Not with the children's bread my life is fed. 

But with the crumbs that fall ; 
Yet henceforth will I envy none, (she said) 

For I have more than all. 

I met a face of such exceeding grace, 

I did not heed his word, — 
The voice denied, but closer to the place 

I pressed, and knew the Lord. 

I heard him say, "The world is given away. 

For thee there is no part;" 
But higher yet, till longing had its way, 

His look drew all my heart. 

Not these for me ? Then something more for me ! 

Where hast Thou hid the best? 
Gain under loss, wealth under poverty, 

In pain a deeper rest. 

Yea, so I take these from his hand, and make 

Thereof a heavenly feast; 
O blessed want, what bread is thine to break ! 

What sweetness in the least! 

O faith denied, and longing cast aside! 

Still wait, and hope, and dare; 
"Even as thou wilt!" O Love, the heavens are wide 

But to fulfill thy prayer! 

148 



THE RANSOM OF THE WORLD 

The world lies deep in darkness; but the night 

Was deeper yet upon the highest hills, 

And still the mountain-tops were veiled in mist, 

When long and long ago a Voice began 

That cried : "Arise and shine, thy light is come, 

The day of God is risen on the earth!" 

Then they that heard, uplooking steadfastly, 

Beheld a wonder where the glory fell; 

A single shaft of light from highest heaven 

A central cross up-lifted in the light, 

Bearing a legend writ in many tongues: 

"Behold" it saith, "the Ransom of the World." 

O hearts of men, do ye not know the sign ? 
This is the ancient mystery of the earth, 
The looming terror of the twilight time ; 
The only token known to hope or fear. 
See, as the light creeps downward, it reveals 
On every height the likeness of a cross ; 
Grand pinnacles that catch the earliest gleams 
And fling them far adown into the dark. 
The radiance falls on many a lifted face 
Of that prophetic line which kept the faith — - 
Though many watchers died without the sight- 
Long waiting for the Ransom of the World. 

And yet who knows the meaning of the sign ? 
Know ye not, ye, who in your hearts have borne 
The burden of a bound Humanity, 
And shared its sacraments of blood and tears? 

O soul of man, of thee the tale is told; 
Thy story is the story of the cross. 
Thy sacrifice the tragedy of time! 
Still for the Worst the Best is crucified; 

149 



Wherever Man the Sufferer hath atoned 
For Man the Sinner, see the conquering sign; 
See triumph born of agony and shame 
And say, "It is the Ransom of the World." 

But, O my God, we are so slow to see! 

We never read the words upon the scroll 

Until the victim is unbound ; we hail 

The empty cross, but not the crucified ; 

And Christ himself were lifted up in vain 

Had not the heavens withdrawn him from our sight 

With us the martyrs wore no aureoles. 

They die forsaken in the dark, and yet 

I know the sufferers are the saviours, yea. 

This surely is the Ransom of the World ! 

If we could see, O Lord, if we could see! 
We worship toward the Vision, but our eyes 
Are dazzled, there are tremblings in our praise; 
"O Christ, the crown is thine, the cross is ours. 
Thine is the glory, ours the mystery"! 
Nay if we suffer with him we shall reign ; 
God does not mock us with the sacred sign ; 
This also is the Ransom of the World. 

O Christ the dregs are bitter in the cup 

That flowed for thee with sorrow's choicest wine 

And sparkled in the light of heavenly joy. 

For thee were greatest work and grandest pain. 

For others the long weariness of life. 

The deathliness of death ; doubts and despairs 

And no transfiguration ! Dare we say 

Our sorrow is the Ransom of the World? 

Listen, ye happy heavens! The groaning earth 
Wearies for her redemption ; hill to hill 
Repeats the ancient promise, but beneath 

150 



The seething darkness cries continually 

"How long, how long" ? The cry of trampled hearts 

Of stifled souls, uncounted and unnamed 

But cast by millions like the balance-dust 

To fill the measure of that monstrous price 

So God makes up the Ransom of the World! 

No more, no more! O thou most marred face 

Bowed in the awful shadow of the Cross — 

Shall the eternal ages comfort thee? 

Or can there yet be pity enough in heaven 

To weep for thee, thou miracle of woe, 

Slain from the earth's foundation? Lord, how long? 

How long shall love endure and evil mock. 

And hell devour — forever? 

O my God, 
How heavy is the Ransom of the World ! 

THE ETERNAL CHORUS. 

The song of songs! I cannot sing it now; 

No earthly air its melody hath known ; 
In vision came to me, I know not how. 

The voice that rings forever round the Throne. 
One moment I behold the harpers stand. 

Thousands and thousands — oh a glorious throng! 
Joy on each head and victory in each hand, 

High over death they stood and sang the song. 

O listen! here a note and there a word 

Floats downward, low enough for mortal breath ; 
So first the prophet and poet heard 

All songs of hope, all holy hymns of faith ; 
All carols love hath fashioned to beguile. 

My lips repeat them as I pass along; 
But not for these my thoughts in secret smile, — 

They muse the wonder of the greater song. 

151 



Dumb is the heart to-day, and dull the brain; 

Heaven's key-note is not lawful to rehearse; 
Not to the sad, slow beating of my pain 

Will sound that rhythm of the universe. 
But O, to know how God is praised aloud, 

How rapturous that music is and strong! 
Who would not go through seven heavens of cloud. 

Through seven deeps of death, to sing the song! 

A VIGIL 

I sit alone and watch the darkening years. 

And all my heart grows dim with doubt and fear; 

Till out of deepest gloom a face appears, 
The only one of all that shineth clear. 

(O lovely face, that all the world doth wrong! 

But not upon the world thou smilest so; 
Thou only real amid the phantom throng. 

Thou only sure while others come and go!) 

Make white thy wedding garments, O my soul ! 

And sigh no longer for thy scanty dower; 
For if he loves thee, he will crown thee whole 

With nobler beauty and immortal power. 

(O dearer than the bridegroom to the bride! 

Nearer than any words of earth can say ; 
No harm shall come when thou art by my side. 

And sorrow from thy look shall flee away.) 

Forget, my soul, the roses of this land, 

Nor mourn that autumn flowers are few and pale ; 

For see, — he bears white lilies in his hand. 
And grief hath woven thee a silver veil. 



152 



(O silent feet, that hasten day and night! 

When will ye come and stand beside my door? 
What if I meet thee with the morning light, 

lovely face, and see the world no more!) 

Now it is naught that life hath been unkind, 

And naught that hope deceived us in our youth. 

This is the face my heart hath ever shrined. 
And fairer than all fancies is the truth. 

(O mighty angel of the secret name! 

Come, for my heart doth answer thee All-hail ; 
I know thy clasp is as a wind of flame, 

1 know that I shall perish, yet prevail!) 

I see no more the shadow-forms between, 
I hear the murmur slowly fall and cease ; 

One smile is all of majesty serene. 

One many-toned voice is saying, Peace ! 

Come with the new name and the mystic stone. 
And speak so low that none shall hear the call ; 

O beautiful, beloved and still unknown, 

I ask thee naught; thy look has promised all! 

ON THE DARK MOUNTAINS 

We cry "Our Father!" we that yearn 

Upward to some Divine embrace. 
And dimly through the mist, discern 

At times a lovely awesome Face, 
Whose darkened likeness haunts our race. 

"Our Father," — we that climb with pain 
And stumbling till our strength is gone 

Fall on our knees, with hands that strain 
To clasp a Hand, and eyes updrawn 

Toward some great heights of cloudy dawn. 
153 



The shuddering sea beneath us raves; j 

"No God, no God!" yet wild despair i 

Shrieks out His name mid whelming waves; 

A sea of souls! what sight could bear , 

That image, marred and dreadful, there? : 

Is He a Father? He that leaves ; 

His children on this perilous slope, ' 

Where strength betrays, where sight deceives, : 

Where knowledge fails, where faith must grope, j 

Where weakness falls past help and hope? > 

Is He that Love our dreams disclose, \ 

Within whose strong enfolding lie i 

All heights and depths? Alas! who knows? j 

But if He be not, then would I j 

Fall on these slippery crags and die. j 

Yea, by this life of mine, He is? ! 

He lives and reigns; this earth, that hell, j 

Down to the central fire, is His; ] 

Deep unto deep declares it well, — 3 

The prayers, that break thro' curses, tell! I 

Father of souls! Redeem thine own! 1 

Lo, on these death-sharp rocks I fall; : 

I hear the awful waves alone, ! 

And through the dark my comrades call, — , 

Yet I can trust Thee for us all! 



154 



"TILL MY CHANGE COME" 

Life if bitter with all its sweet, death with 
all its bitter is sweet, — 
Drink, and remember not your pain ! 
Never was rest so still and deep, putting a 
wearied heart to sleep, — 
And O, my heart is growing fain ! 

Death is Ithuriel with his spear, — a touch, 
and soul upstarteth clear, 
Dropping its dark unworthy guise; 
And knowing self and knowing doom, against 
the awful heavens doth loom. 
With shame or glory in its eyes. 

When that which beats such narrow bars shall 
stand upright to touch the stars, 
O then how wonderful the hour! 
Thou heart of flesh shall melt to see, when 
thy enfolded mystery 
Grows out of weakness into power. 

Then when the summer comes, and sun, thro' 
leafy veins thy blood shall run. 
Ah, with what sweet and even flow! 
And thou of rest shalt take thy fill, while 
that may have its lofty will 
A wanderer with the stars to go ; 



i 
155 ' 



Or like a gracious presence bowed, in some 
White garment of a cloud, 
O'er the beloved earth to rest; 
Shine, looking toward the golden spheres, or 
darken pitiful with tears, 
And drop a blessing on her breast. 

Lo, all my throbbing pulses yearn for that 
which poorest toilers earn. 
The sleep that bindeth every smart ; 
And aU my kindling thoughts desire to drop 
their fetters and aspire. 
Pray for their peace and let them part. 

These weary, weary, weary days, along 

the ever steeper-ways! 
My soul remembereth its pain ; 
And that which is not sight nor sound, 

forever shines and cries, Beyond ! 
And O, my heart is growing fain! 



i5t 



FRIEND OR FOE? 

Life, beloved and hated! 
Before thy veil I wait, 

To know if I am fated 

To endless love or hate. 
Lift up, lift up the veil! 

1 wait and wonder, pale 
With a hope so great and dear 
It trembles momently to fear. 
Whatever shape my thoughts divine, 
I know I am forever thine. 

Thy brand is burnt upon me. 
Thou that signest with a cross! 

Thy fateful spell hath won me, 
Though I serve thee to my loss. 

Scant and bitter bread I eat. 

Yet sometimes it seemeth sweet ; 

Heavy burdens still I take. 

For some unknown glory's sake; 

Whom I serve, or how, or why, 

I know not, all is mystery. 

The day of thy revealing 
I dread and long to know; 

That day will be my sealing 
To endless joy or woe; 

A rapture or despair 

Alike too great to bear; 

But from thy face I may not fly. 

Nor hide me in eternity. 

O, that I could deny thee! 

O that I dared defy thee! 

Wert thou a charmer less complete. 

Less cruel or less sweet! 

But, demon-lover or divine, 

For good or evil I am thine, 

157 



How wonderful thy ways appear, 
And thy few favors overdear; 
And my heart is thrilled and stirred 
By thy voice without a word. 

I have wrought thy will, O Fate! 
Now thy answer I await. 
I tremble, but I shall not fail: — 
Lift up the v.eil! 

THE PUNISHMENT OF SCORN 

"Depart from Thee?" Ah, whither shall they go 
From the sad face they learned so late to know — 
Learned speechless in the judgment's awful glow. 

Through all the echoing depths of memory 
Sighs a low voice, "Ye did it not to Me!" 
And one by one they go out silently. 



And ever deeper presses on each heart .. 

The awful meaning of that word, "Depart!" — i 

Go, and unhindered be the thing thou art. ] 

The life thou wouldst not share is all thine own; ] 
Thyself shalt reap what for theyself was sown; .j 

Thou standest in the universe alone. ! 

I 

No more shall sorrow vex thine eyes; no more 

Shall want entreat thee at the bolted door, 

Nor Heaven ask an offering from thy store. ; 

But thou that satst at such a proud remove j 

Shalt hunger for thy poorest neighbor's love, i 

And look to earth as mortals look above. | 

And oft in that dread silence thou shalt say, 
"Would God but give me one more living day. 
That I might learn to love, and weep and pray." i 

158 I 



So haply thy self-banished soul may learn 
At last to read its curse aright, and yearn 
Upward with trembling — "Is there no return?" 

And shalt thou, groping find the golden stair, 
And climb to seek His feet, the lowest there? 
I know not, — but the way is dread to dare. 

And blessed only they, the Spirit saith, 

O Love, who live thy life, who breathe thy breath : — 

O Love, redeem us from that second death! 

AT SAMOA 

(In the spring of 1889, two ships of our Navy, 
the Trenton, and Vandalia were caught in a hur- 
ricane, and wrecked with great loss of life. The 
British ship Calliope, which had steam up, being on 
the point of departure, escaped with difficulty, and 
was heartily cheered as she passed by the doomed 
crew in the rigging of the Trenton.) 

Boast not, O wind and wave. 
Your triumph quickly o'er ; 
Exult not for so vast a grave, 
O lonely foreign shore! 

No sound of woe or fear 
That stormy ocean heard ; 
Only the patriot's dauntless cheer, 
The comrades' heartening word. 

There rose no selfish strife — 
Only the generous cry 
Sent to the men ordained to life 
By those about to die. 



159 



No wail or plea they raised 

A hopeless help to crave ; 

But well their shout of victory praised 

The God who made them brave. 

Be proud my country! with thy living sons 
Count first and foremost the immortal ones! 

Not for their lives alone 

These fought the cruel sea; 

They strove to leave a name to thee 

Thou shouldst not fear to own. 

Mother of mighty souls, 

Thy strength is in thee still! 

Thou hast not lost the power that moulds 

The hero-heart and will. 

Brothers and sires of these were they, who freed 

Thy youth with stirring word and manly deed. 

One blood, one flesh with thee 

Were they, who later saw thy rights denied, 

And dared the haughty mistress of the seas, 

Even in her height of pride; 

And those for whom, in mingled joy and woe 

Fame chants the romance of the Alamo. 

One heart, one soul with these were they, who paid 

The long arrears of freedom's cost, and those 

Who straining bore away the shame, that made 

Thee weak before thy foes. 

Such are the soldiers who on Western plains 

Rove homeless, for thy honor and thy laws, 

In hardship, heat and cold, in fever-pains. 

With naught of man's applause. 

Such are they who by the Lena Delta died ; 

In Arctic wastes, forbade their hearts to break; 

Strove with despair and madness at their side 

1 60 



For home and country's sake. 
Easy it was for souls akin to these 
Only to face the wrath of roaring seas. 

But what have we to give 

To her so often praised with dying breath? 

O, ye have made it hard for us to live 

Unshamed by such a death. 

Yet let your steadfast cheer 

That rings across the world, go echoing on, 

Rebuke our coward fear, 

And make life strong to keep what death has won. 

IN TIME OF PERIL. 

Let them cling to the life of the body, who know 

or who feel 
That the spark of their being is only what water 

can drown. 
Let them trample their way like brutes, to whom 

brute living is dear; 
Truly, they have their reward ; but smiling the 

hero goes down. 
Not he is the plaything of Fate, let it flatter or 

frown. 
For he knows the decree of his Maker, that life 

unto life shall be given. 
And knows that beneath and around, as well as 

above him, is heaven. 

GOD SAVE AMERICA 

O Lord of hosts! who kindled war 

'Twixt dark and light since time began. 

And as from chaos grows the star 

From nature's rudeness moulded man. — 



i6i 



Who set'st him with himself at strife 

And provest him both by smile and frown, 

And laid the mingled strands of life 

That draw, or drag him, up and down. 

Thou who did'st hide this chosen land 

Until the chosen seeker came. 
And made its name on every strand 

The synonym for freedom's name. 

Thou hast ordained this glorious field 
For crowning strife of best and worst. 

The quenchless conflict long concealed, — 
O be Thou with us as at first. 

Remember how this land was found ; 

How sealed to faith's and freedom's day; 
In what dear blood her guilt was drowned, 

What tears have washed her wrongs away. 

Remember all those men of might 
Who held the human cause divine; 

By Thy right arm waxed strong in fight. 
And made the desert sing and shine; 

And all the unmeasured ransom paid 

Since pilgrims' prayers and pains began, 

The toil and courage never weighed 

That cleared the path, and shaped the plan. 

By all the hopes of souls oppressed, 
By all the love of souls that strive, 

God bless her — and she shall be blest! 
God keep her and her light alive. 



162 



THE DEATHLESS NAMES \ 

Where are they gone, whose steps we trace, ■ 

Making the earth a sacred place? j 

Workers, who made the desert bloom; I 

Singers, whose songs outsoared the tomb; j 

Heroes and lovers, fair and brave; | 

Martyrs, high-smiling o'er the grave, — j 

All they of words or deeds sublime, j 

Whose portraits light the halls of time. i 

They all are with the dead. * * * No, no! i 

It is not, cannot, sure, be so! 1 

Or, if those living souls be there, .1 

Their light must make the darkness fair. j 

Easier it is to dream that Death | 
Hath warmed his coldness with their breath. 

Than that his creeping frost hath chilled . 

Those hearts with flame immortal filled. ] 

Still in our living they live on, 

Not far removed, nor wholly gone; i 

Their glory, like the sunset light, j 

Strikes back, a moonrise on our night. j 

Newton, whose thoughts weighed out the earth; \ 

Milton, who watched the planets' birth ; ! 

Napoleon, captain of all hosts. \ 

Still gathering on the soundless coasts — , 

I 

I 

All ye in whom life beat so strong, \ 

Its echo makes the ages' song — 

Ye living ones! less bowed to death 

Than half the world, yet breathing breath! 

Ye tell us, there is naught to fear, j 

If but the soul herself hold dear; j 

From your high place of fame you cry, ' 

"Who once hath lived can never die!" i 

. ! 
163 



THE SCAPEGOAT OF THE NATIONS 

Their sins upon her head they laid — 
The nations old, and shrewd, and staid — 
That she might bear their sorrow's stress 
Away into the wilderness. 

And long she bore it as in play ; 
For she was young and strong, and gay, 
And generous, glad and proud to bear 
A whole world's burdens for her share. 

But now — as when, in days of old, 
They drove the scapegoat from the fold, 
To die in desert-lands alone, 
For sins of those who threw the stone — 

Even so, no thanks they yield thee now, 
When alien shame has flushed thy brow, 
Thou queen of all the younger-born ! 
Thy ingrate elders laugh in scorn. 

Go on ! a little longer yet 
Lavish thy wealth to pay their debt. 
Then shall stern History hide thy face, 
And write above thy last disgrace, 

"Thus shall that man or nation fall 
Who loves not honor first of all." 

Still do the wise man's words endure, 
"Who hateth suretyship is sure." 
Ivet none be victim for his brother, 
No land be ransom for another. 
Beware! though thou be godlike, strong, 
Tempt not the nemesis of wrong. 



164 



LOOK TO THE GATES! 

{For Restricted Immigration) 

Grand was that vision of the prime 

Which lightened o'er thy cradle-time, 

Round whom the unborn ages wait — 

Columbia, child of faith and fate! 

Thy watchers saw a nobler day 

Break from new heavens, where earth was new; 

And, faring on their pilgrim way, 

To find a refuge for the True, 

Built, half below and half above. 

The Holy City of their love. 

In dreams they heard its people raise 
A glorious name — "The Lord is there!" 
They saw its walls of peace and praise 
Rise on the hidden stones of prayer. 
Their hearts took up the prophet's song, 
"Wide for the wretched of all lands 
This foster-mother young and strong 
Shall spread her feast with bounteous hands. 
Thy gates, O city of delight, 
Shall not be shut by day or night, 
And thy unbounded grace shall win 
The glory of the nations in." 

And swiftly, in a time foretold, 

The Old World caught the beacon-flame; 

As if another ocean rolled 

Across the watery wave, they came, 

They came, but as of old, when trod 

In holy courts the sons of God, 

Satan came also! as at first 

This second Eden is accurst. 



165 



O Warder standing by the sea, 
Whose eyes of welcome toward the east 
Are dreaming still of days to be, 
And how thy greatness is increased — 
Look to the gates! Behold a throng 
Is there, but now no more with song. 
Few are the thankful hearts that know 
Thy bounty equal to their woe. 

Ay, lift thy torch across the sea. 

But dream no longer, Liberty; 

To ravage these new lands have come 

The monstrous broods of want and sin; 

Year after year piles up the sum, 

Day after day those tides roll in. 

Already evil tokens flare 

Upon their farthest Western slope; 

Already looms the old despair 

To darken round the world's last hope, 

The soil for honest toilers meant 

By Greed is gained, by Crime is spent. 

The glory of the nations? Nay; 
Rather their shame they bring, to-day! 

Why should the people's heritage 
Be mortgaged for their tyrants' debt? 
Shall earth unfold a fairer page? 
Are there more worlds to conquer yet? 
New lands beyond the western sun? 
Has time another Washington? 
Or will the hurrying years turn back 
That careless feet may find the track? 
And dare ye let the wild wind sow 
The seed that must for ages grow? 



i66 



Was it for this the Almighty Hand 
Kept hid, so long, His chosen land? 
For this, the sifted seed was brought, 
For this, the wondrous compact wrought? 
For this, the care of jealous Heaven 
Hath searched the land for old-world leaven, 
And purged it twice, through bloody seas. 
From stains of ancient tyrannies? 
For this — that over-lavish hands 
Should welcome to our inmost shrine 
The outcast ills of elder lands. 
And fling the costly pearls to swine? 

Woe to the land whose gates unclose 
Heedless alike to friends and foes! 
Shame on the careless warders! shame! 
Where license borrows freedom's name! 
Lo! darkening like the clouds of doom, 
The locust-horde devours the way ; 
Heavy with fate the moments loom — 
Only the powers of good delay. 
To-morrow may be all too late 
To meet the perils at our gate. 

O waken, children of the West! 
Once more for Motherland to strive; 
By all the love of souls oppressed, 
God bless her — and she shall be blest — 
God keep her and her light alive! 
Rich with the blessing of the poor, 
Still let her grasp the toiling hand; 
For her true lovers guard the door. 
And keep the treasure of the land. 
Her Pilgrims' prayers yet plead on high, 
From their red grave her heroes cry — 
She must not and she shall not die! 

167 



HEROIC DAYS, 1 861-1865 

It was many a year ago — 

But he that saw it remembers! 

Ah, yet, how the old fires glow 
If a breath but stir the embers! 

Life was treading its wheel, 
Sunken in Mammon's ways, 

When sudden as Judgment's peal, 

Startling with clash of steel. 
Came the heroic days! 

Time was grinding along. 

Bowed by the weight it bore, — 

Evils many and strong, 

And one that shall rise no more. 

One great Evil was king 

Over the land of freemen, 
And even our eagle's wing 

Cowered like a brooding demon. 

It was many a year ago, 

(But they who heard it remember!) 
That a North wind came to blow 

In the dusk of a wild November. 

Swiftly before it drifted 

The smoke that bewildered reason, 
And there, when the veil was lifted. 

Stood armed and menacing Treason. 

Then, when all hearts were quailing, 
All wisdom of man was failing, 

God bade his trumpet sound; 
So, shuddering, envious, fearing. 
To witness the great Appearing, 

Gathered the nations round. 
168 



And lo! the sign of the Lord 
Flashed high in heaven ! — a sword 
Whose first stroke cleft between 
The noble and the mean. 

Then life grew suddenly stern, 

Tense with a purpose high ; 
And many were quick to learn 

How easy it is to die. 
For swiftest and first of all, 
Outstripping the human call, 
The heralds of God went forth ; 
Breathed on the frozen North, 

Kindling a flame divine. 
Wherever a heart was stirred. 
And with one all-cleaving word, 

Gave message and test and sign. 

They stood in the market-place, 
Parting the human torrent ; 

Each man they looked in the face 
Bore thence the inward warrant. 

Alike to forge and hall 

Came the o'ermastering call. 
One answered, "Here am I!" 

One muttered sullenly, 

"Am I my brother's keeper? Why 
Should I for man or country die?" 

Then passed the angels silently ; 

But there the evil seal was set. 

And yet, and yet — though men forget- 
The record is on high. 

For never in any land. 

Never in any time. 
Was human life made grand 

With a ministry more sublime. 

169 



Never was cause revealed 

Fitter for man to covet; 
There was hell on the battle-field, 

But Heaven leaned close above it! 

Yet well might humanity falter 

Before the battle was done! 
There was the bloodiest altar 

That ever darkened the sun. 
Four long terrible years 

Watching by Liberty's cross ; 
Swelling the tide of tears, 

Counting the boundless loss. 
Yet still to the end they stood, 
Strong in the strength of Good ; 
Still, man took his life in hand, 

And woman shut down her heart, 
And both, for love of the Land, 

Took toil and sorrow and smart. 

Aye, it was long since ended, 

All the fever and passion ; 
And the vision fierily splendid 

Shrinks to the old tame fashion, 
Yet still the glamour and glory 
Hallow America's story. 
And still in the quiet ways, 

Where commonplace things betide us. 
Some hero of those great days 

Unheralded walks beside us. 

Ah, yet, how the old fires glow 
If a breath but stir the embers! 

It was many a year ago — 

But he that felt it remembers! 



170 



A NORTH WIND 

There was over all the land 

A dark and heavy day, 
Till a wind came out of the North 

And blew the clouds away. 

And the old flag went down 
On the broad Southern plain, 

Till a wind came out of the North 
And raised it up again. 

A mighty rushing wind 

Blew straight from Plymouth Rock, 
And the voices of men were in it — 

Men of the Pilgrim stock. 

There was the sound of woods, 
And the dash of the mighty sea ; 

And wherever the North wind went 
Men heard the words, Be free! 

"Come, let us claim the land 

Once more for liberty;" 
The Northern to the Southern pine 

Sent greeting cheerily. 

Strong is the wind of the North, 
Strong as the arm of Right, 

(The breath of many noble lives 
It was that won our fight!) ; 

Keen is the wind of the North, 
Keen as the sword of Truth ; 

(O for the slain of all the land! 
O for the flower of youth!). 

171 



Clouds are over the sky, 

Clouds that follow the rain ; 

Come, O wind of the North! 
And clear the skies again. 

Till the smoke is rolled away, 
And the battle echoes cease; 

For it is only victory 

Hath power to utter, Peace! 

REAWAKENING 

(1861-1889) 

Upon their arms they lay, and slept; 
Ashamed, the Mother o'er them wept. 
They, who were set to lead the van 
Had stayed the forward march of man, 
Nor half their ancient promise kept. 

Far off, they heard the earthquake's shock ; 
They heard insurgent Europe's mock, 
It said, "The Pilgrims' faith is cold. 
Their children care for naught but gold." 
They heard and lingered, dreaming still. 
Whose fathers fought at Bunker's Hill, 

Whose mothers prayer on Plymouth Rock. 

Upon their arms they slept, they dreamed ; 
Valor seemed dead, but only seemed. 
For suddenly a bugle blew — 
Up sprang the warriors, false and true ; 
And all the Sleeping Palace rang 
With trumpet peal and sabre clang, 
And Freedom's beauty bloomed anew. 



172 



Ah, for those days when men were men ! 
Each house had heroes in it then. 
Ah, for those days when faith illumed 
The hearts it burned in, unconsumed. 
Women were angels then, in truth, 
And age grew young again, and youth 
Had tenfold life to lavish then. 

Ah, then the Mother rose up proud, 
And smiling through the sorrow-cloud. 
Once more her eyes shot forth the ray 
That lights the nations on their way. 
Fast flowed the glorious awful strife, 
A thousand years of mortal life 
Melted in one immortal day. 

O God of battles ! breathe again 
The spirit that makes gods of men! 
For now the patriot-heart beats low, 
A sordid age hath dimmed the glow. 
Once in our markets men were sold ; 
Now, they sell Freedom's self for gold, 
And freemen bear to have it so! 

O God of nations! stoop to break 
This spell, ere yet Thy judgments wake! 
Strike through this later, darker crime. 
The light of that revealing time. 
Shame back the robbers from the soil 
Thou gav'st our martyrs for a spoil. 
And save us for the fathers' sake! 

Save us who, counting triumphs won, 
Add Gettysburg to Lexington! 
Whose priceless heritage profaned 
Hath twice been hallowed, twace regained. 
O shame on us, if we despair — 
Knowing what kindred hearts could dare — 
Or leave our lighter work undone. 
173 



AFTER SIXTEEN YEARS 

{Garfield's death in 1881 — His speech at Lincoln's 
death in 1865) 

There was not a cloud in the sky, not a warring 

sign upon earth, 
The land was heavy with harvest, and happy with 

rest and mirth. 
And in glory of peace, at last, the people's holiday 

came 
When suddenly shot the bolt, and followed a flash 

of flame. 

Flashed over all the land . . . one long, long, 

quivering thrill. 
And the nations heart cried once, and then in terror 

was still 
And never a sound was heard, but of sobbing and 

shuddering breath 
While an awe struck nation waited, facing the face 

of death 

And then in the sudden gloom, she sees a vision arise 

For the sunny day has reeled, from her sick and 
dazed eyes. 

And the time is again a time of wrath and terror 
and doubt. 

With battles' confused noise, and victory's broken 
shout. 

And who is the mighty fallen? Our stateliest top- 
most tree. 

Green just now in the sun? Oh no, oh no, not he! 

Like a storm scarred mountain pine, is the face now 
lying still. 

And you need not hold your breath, for the winds 
rave round him still. 

174 



Hark to the roar of strife, and the mutter of secret 

hate, 
Treason has done its worst, and triumph has come 

too late, 
Dead ; then evil has won. Dead ! but it must not be, 
So surges, and seeths the crowd, loud as an angry sea, 

Lo there is one uprisen — a loftier Saul he stands 
High over all his brothers, and lifts their hearts in 

his hands, 
Like a seer of old, proclaiming the word for the 

maddened hour 
God reigns! the clouds and the darkness are but his 

hiding of power. 

O wonderful rule of God ! that over this long, long 

way. 
Stretched out the solemn anointing, that comforts 

and crowns to-day 
That lifted the prophet vision, o'er peril and death 

and time 
But veiled the sorrowful fullness, that hid in the 

word sublime. 

For he lies on the country's breast, it's father and 

brother, and son, 
And the land of his love is whole again, and her 

heart is but one. 
By the side of her second Martyr, let the shame 

of her rending cease 
One life be the seal of freedom, and one be the 

pledge of peace. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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